Like a Rose on The Grave of Love
by Hellysion
Summary: Vampire Hunter "D." and Demon Hunter Dante Sparda were centuries apart, until a dark force decided otherwise. Chaos and angst will ensue! YAOI. DxD
1. Chapter 1

**Like a Rose on The Grave of Love**

A Vampire Hunter D and Devil May Cry fanfiction

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**The obliged Author notes:**

Hello! This is the first fic I have dared to publish in english, and I hope you find it entertaining (be kind). I just want to say a few things before letting you give a shot to this: English it's not my first language, so pleaseee forgive the grammatical mistakes and other horrors; this fic is yaoi (long live MOE!), so if you don't like it… well, there's always another thing to read and tons of fics out there. Third: Thanks to my friend Zophiel Lagace for the basic translation of this piece of my leisure time, she is the best.

D, Lefty and the Frontier belong to master Hideyuki Kikuchi. Dante and Vergil belong to Capcom, I don't profit for any of these, bla, bla, bla… the moe and craziness are all mine, mineeee!

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**CHAPTER 1**

_Your thorns, they kissed my blood_

_Your beauty heals, your beauty kills_

_And who would know better than I do?_

_**Xandria**. Like A Rose On The Grave Of Love_

* * *

The horseman was the darkness of the world. Black on black, an infinite and sad shadow that seemed to carry in itself all the pain of that maimed and scarred planet. The supernatural aura that covered him was his by right; frightening and portentous, it isolated him from reality with the same effectiveness of a dragon stationed at his feet or the lightning of God shining over his head.

He was alone.

- I swear by your father's enormous fangs that today you beat a record in the book of "Reckless Suicidal Idiots" –said a very hoarse, very angry and very sarcastic voice that seemed to come from nowhere.

**Almost** alone.

- To accept to destroy Lord Meskhent without help? Sure, why not? He was only said to be nearly equal to the Sacred Ancestor. But of course, before accomplish that you had to beat to a pulp his endless reserves of sociopath flunkies; I particularly liked the girl with the poison, great body, not that you would notice, mind you. And how long was it? –the disembodied voice made a dramatic pause only to add seconds later-–: Oh yes! ONE week, one ENTIRE week enjoying the splendid sun of the south of the Frontier. But his castle, oh no, that you assaulted by NIGHT, why wait? And last but not the least, you miscalculated AGAIN the time of that "small" nuclear explosion...

The voice sounded like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but who could blame him? It was a miracle that the horseman was in one piece, being that only hours ago he was covered by just melted skin (courtesy of the radiation of the aforementioned bomb and the ashes of one of the undead who called themselves _Nobles_).

- You're... you're... —continued the furious tirade of the mysterious voice although there were no signals that the horseman was paying any attention-–. Are you even listening? I'm complaining here, say something for a change!

The face of the horseman under the black wide traveler's hat could have been a statue, carved from a dark crystal from depths unknown. If he where to suddenly move, the moon would run out of breath and plunge the world into chaos. A beauty like that could not be given life, it should be against natural law.

Could he be a fallen angel?

- D? –the voice insisted, this time with apprehension although it could not exclude a certain degree of cynicism every time he pronounced the self-assigned abbreviation. Every time someone asked "what the ´D´ stands for?", he felt like screaming the sooo obvious answer and then smile at the resulting havoc and mayhem.

The horseman fell downward, his face resting on the cybernetic horse's mane. As if sensing something was wrong, the animal stopped. The Hunter's hands dropped the reins, but, while the right one slid down free to his side, the other stayed in the air; the elegant snow-white fingers spread. A face emerged from the flesh of the palm (with a little mouth and a little nose and all), and small black eyes narrowed in a curious and concentrated expression...

- Heat Syndrome, poisoning by radiation, bone marrow resembles pudding and, of course –-spoke the hand (or the face in the hand), his hoarse voice still sarcastic while completing the analysis of the body of his host-: You don't have blood for even a baby vampire... what am I suppose to do with you?

The ancient parasite sighed, and he would have shrugged if he had shoulders. Why the Sacred Ancestor didn't graft him onto a host with some sense of self-preservation? The hand sighed again, mourning his fate not for the first time in those long centuries. Had he no right to a decent life with good food, tons of fun and wild sex to satisfy even the entire Julius-Claudius dynasty?

The carbuncle moved to look at the serene face of the dhampir; the little color he had in the first place was leaving him too quickly. Suddenly D frowned, revealing just a bit of the agony in which he was; a secind later he let out a barely audible cry just before slipping into a coma. His limp body began to slide down, and hastily the carbuncle took the control of the rest of the arm and grabbed the neck of the horse; the animal moved uneasily and the hand cursed among horse hair... now what was _he_ going to do? The situation could almost be funny, but his humor failed him. D needed to be carried to a safe place where he could heal, but the hand wasn't in a good condition either.

The carbuncle was starving (as usual), and that was his host fault too... "slave driver" –thought the parasite, resentful, tired and worried–. "At least it's night... wait, I take away that: there's no sun to grill him, but if we stay here we will be the dinner of something unpleasant in less than an hour... oh, the dilemma".

The horse snorted, kicking the ground with a hoof and worsening their already precarious position.

- I know, I know! Let me think –said the hand. The first thing in order was to eat and therefore regain at least a little of his strength, and so he did. He inhaled a large amount of air (somewhat insipid) and took control of the animal.

The town of Düsseldorf was a few miles away from there, and hopefully nothing would eat them on their way. What would they do when they got to the village...? Well, that if they managed to arrive in one piece. If they came out of this situation, the carbuncle swore that D would wake up in a tutu dress... a very pink and cute tutu dress.

_**X**_

_**x**_

"Never, by any cause and under no circumstances, follow anything (no matter what it is: white rabbit, girl in tiny clothes or your evil twin) through anything minimally resembling a hole in the ground". Dante, son of the legendary demon Sparda, was repeating this like a mantra as he cut the head of a werewolf who had pretended to have him as his Little Red Riding Hood. "Could it be the red coat?" –the half demon asked himself sarcastically, checking that this said tight red outfit were still in good condition. It wouldn't be easy to replace it, being that the nearest Diesel store was about... oh, yeah! About eleven thousand years in the past!

And he looked damn good in that coat.

Sometimes he still refused to believe that this was happening to him. He had been in Hell, in the stomach of apocalyptic monsters, accursed islands, and the list went on and on. But the future? And THAT future no less. It was horrible, unspeakable, horrifying, as if it had been taken from one of his worst nightmares...

There wasn't pizza! The last chef to whom he had asked had looked unpleasantly at him. Furthermore, there were no table-dancers, TV, movies, junk food (of any type), metal bands (not even Pop music to make fun of it!) But there were monsters; oh but how this world exuded monsters! Oddly, the demons were rather old-fashioned and very rare, which depressed him: Dante lived to turn them to ashes, but recently (2 years ago now) he lived to find a way back to his own time... and return to turn them to ashes. Although at seeing what he now knew about this world, his primary goal when he returned would probably be to give the demons a vacation and to search for the vampires instead. Those fangy bastards had fucked up the Earth... "Nevermind" –said Dante to himself, returning with ease the extra-cumbersome sword of his father to his back. He never knew why Trish loved so much the damned sword, he missed his Alastor dearly… and missed Trish too; he even missed the old dude who did his laundry back then (and the pizza guy of course).

He missed "home". But he had had to follow his crazy twin into that cursed hole and ended up here; he was so glad to know Vergil was alive and kicking (if it was indeed his brother and not the dumbest trap in which Dante had ever fallen), and along to a way back to his time (as Hollywoody as that sounded) he wanted to find his evil and megalomaniac twin, hug him and then beat the crap out of him (with love).

"Tomorrow is another day" –Dante sighed, tired. It was still three hours before dawn, and according to the information he had collected early that day, he was a few miles from a town called Düsseldorf. If he suddenly came to a town named "Lugosi" he would not be surprised anymore. It was just starting to weigh on him to be the only one who understood the joke.

He continued to walk on; he still had the hope of getting a motorcycle (or something that resembled one in that bizarre world), because the day he started to wander around on horseback would be the day when he would paint his hair Barbie-blond. Blessed be his demon blood and the endless reserves of energy that it gave him. OK, they weren't endless, and –by the way–, he was hungry, but he still refused to carry those dry, hard and non mouthwatering things that people here said were "food for the road".

"Not even John Wayne would eat that ... I wonder how werewolf meat would taste?"

_**X**_

_**x**_

- Almost… there… –said the carbuncle to himself, although how could he talk with its mouth attached at the horse's neck, was a mystery worthy of Holmes. He could feel thousands of presences in front of them, but at their present speed –that of turtle with rheumatism—, they would reach the village in about an hour.

A presence was coming to them quickly. The hand cursed aloud, and decided to keep moving forward. It was just one presence, but he estimated that it was a strong individual, and in this world that was never good news. Not if you were the oh so famous Vampire Hunter D (or his left hand, by association).

It took not even a minute for the man to come nearer. 10 meters away from them he slowed his progress –an even worse sign-, and moments later his horse walked parallel to D's. The man was tall, not too stout, he had a heavy dark beard and even darker eyes under the bushy eyebrows. The weapon on his back was like a neon sign that said "Hunter", that and the tense and violent aura that surrounded almost all the men of his type.

And all the men of his type had heard of Vampire Hunter D. Certainly the newcomer could see from his mount that this stranger fitted all the rumors like a list, and the one above everything: he was impossibly beautiful, enough to throw almost painful shivers to body parts where another man should not have had any influence. And he considered himself a man among men.

The other part of the description was that his ability to kill was divine… so, what was doing the famous Vampire Hunter unconscious on his own horse? The explosion of the day before seemed to have the answer… "Surely" –thought Cronos, Werewolf Hunter—. "Not even D could emerge unscathed after defeating the legendary Lord Meskhent, the Tyrant of the Shadows".

The only question left was: what was he going to do with this situation? Help him so the Vampire Hunter would owe him a favor looked like a good idea… but on the other hand, some other ideas were whirling inside his head, almost as if something was whispering although he knew it was his own darkness speaking.

"Where there's beauty, dark thoughts aren't so far", his father used to say, but only in this moment that phrase made sense for him.

His calloused hand moved as if pulled by something stronger than his rationality, reaching to that otherworldly face. That skin put silk to shame, and in the night-light it glowed in a supernatural way. The undeniable pleasure grew stronger and came out of his mouth like a lament that was lost in the darkness. He took off D's hat carelessly, dropping it, and his eyes widened.

"How could someone have that kind of beauty and not being a God?" –the man called Cronos asked himself, overwhelmed for the first time in his hard life. At his 35 years he had seen more than many octogenarians; he had advanced as a Hunter carrying the motto "every man to himself". He had innocent blood on his hands, and he didn't care: Idealists died young in the Frontier, and he was a survivor.

He had never desired anything more than the glitter of gold, at least until that moment. None of the worldly pleasures he had experienced before compared with this vision that had made him forget all in a second and promised to make him lose his soul.

Cronos forced himself to close his eyes, breathe and put himself together, but not because it would change what he had decided just a few seconds ago. He was a Hunter: he carefully and icily planned every move, and this promised to be the most difficult task of his career. He touched the elegant neck under the black and large raincoat D wore, looking for a pulse. He found it when he began to give him up for dead, he could not even hear the dhampir breathe.

As if by magic, a dagger appeared in his hand, and without a shred of doubt he cut the snow-white cheek, deeply. D did not move, the cut barely bled, and Cronos found that the legendary dhampir was probably comatose, perhaps by the radiation from the explosion or the poison of some enemy... or all of the above. He smiled triumphantly, with a feverish shine in his black eyes.

He recorded quickly his surroundings: one could never be too careful in the nights of the Frontier, and then dismounted. He pulled the dhampir down of his horse and took him to the front of his own with suspicious ease; the animal remained quiet and obedient to the strange actions of his owner. Cronos mounted again, and clung his passenger by the waist with his left hand, then brought his horse to D's and tied the bridle to his own steed. He concentrated on the road in the front instead of the closeness of that perfect body to his chest. His hand ached to touch that smooth skin again.

"Soon" –he assured his lust, and set off to Düsseldorf, more quickly than seemed possible with two horses tied in that way. But of course, he had not earned the name "Cronos" for nothing.

While pretending to be the most normal hand on the Frontier, the carbuncle was stunned and dumbfounded.

"This is going to be worse than the tutu…"

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**TBC…**

Please reviewwww, reviews make the sun brighter, the coffee sweeter and the authoress happier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**NOW EDITED! (yes, I know: the mistakes will still be dancing in my face, but what can I do?)**

**Disclaimer: Hi! This chapter is rated M just to be sure. It contains nudity, non-con and some perversions in the way (nothing too serious… I hope). Enter at your own risk (and leave a precious review).**

**Thanks!**

_One thing you cannot know:_

_The sudden extinction of every alternative,_

_The unexpected crash of the iron cataract._

_You do not know what hope is, until you have lost it._

_You only know what it is not to hope:_

_You do not know what it is to have hope taken from you._

_T. S. ELIOT, The Family Reunion_

The village of Düsseldorf was like a mold for the settlements of the Frontier; nothing peculiar was seen in its dusty streets and nothing stood out in its 435 inhabitants. It had a building in the center for the Law, a hospital, no opulent house, three inns, a fountain, a brothel and no juicy gossips to tell his few visitors.

It was, in short, a town just to pass by, but Cronos didn't want to risk it so, just before reaching the entrance of the settlement, he covered the Vampire Hunter as best as it was possible, but laughed at his own attempts. The thick, long raven hair, shining like a waterfall in the full moon, did not help the idea of "let's go unnoticed." "At least it covers his face, but I shouldn't have thrown that hat," –Cronos said to himself, barely comforted with the disguise as he entered the inn and met the owner of the place while supporting D on his shoulder.

- Did your friend have too much fun? –asked the strong old man, glancing at the pale countenance of the obviously unconscious guy.

- I fear it's worse than that –smiled Cronos, in the most harmless way that his lips could conjure in that hard exterior–. I need a double room and a doctor, please.

The old man sighed. As the owner of an inn in that kind of place, he was used to strangers coming and going, and so he had a nose for trouble. And this man and his companion shouted TROUBLE! with trumpets and fanfare, but it had been a long night without an equal large number of clients, so he dismissed his internal warning bells and nodded. He called a boy that was further away from them and seemed to be half an eyelid away from falling asleep on a barrel. Despite this the boy jumped as a newly oiled spring and went to the call, held the key to the room he was handed by the innkeeper and led their new guests to a room on the first floor, not without looking sideways at least twice in their journey.

Very interesting fellows fall around there once in a while, and this two were certainly peculiar.

Cronos pay him no attention; he entered the room and carefully left D on the bed that didn't face the window (he did not want the exposure to the morning sun to finish killing the sensible dhampir.) He went out to pick up the saddles and bags of both horses, and then emptied the belongings of the Vampire Hunter in the other bed.

- Interesting ... –he murmured after finding a bottle with one dried plasma capsule. Even on the black market these were hard to come by, he had heard; he looked at the inert dhampir out of the corner of his eye, the question in his dark eyes was easy to read. All who had known D wondered about the same thing: how this inhuman man quenched his thirst when, with the shortest gesture, he could have had anyone he wished to slice their throats for him? These capsules talked about abstinence, but Cronos had seen the dreaded Nobles close and personal, as his prey (the werewolves) used to be their guardians of choice; and he was unwilling to believe that the hell he had seen unleashed in those crimson eyes could be satisfied with anything less than fresh blood pouring from the veins of a person... or a million.

The rest of D's belongings were what one might expect from a Hunter of his class, and it included two changes of clothes and some spare parts for the armor, along with stranger things, which he would investigate later. Cronos returned to bed and his eyes stopped in the mysterious blue pendant that rested on D's chest. The dhampir did not give him the impression of being the type to wear such ornamentation if even his spare clothes were worn out and his long sword (which now lay under the bed) lacked any decoration.

Suspecting some other use for this gem, he took it off, having to hold D behind the neck to do so; his fingers were delighted a long time between that addictive hair as his eyes could not stop drinking in the vision of that solemn face... Gods, how beautiful he was and how dangerous was his glory! Why would someone like him decide to dedicate his life to hunting the most fearsome monster on the planet? –-the Werewolf Hunter found himself wondering. Was it maybe because he carried the same monster in his veins? Was it not like killing yourself?

It was a long time since Cronos dealt with thoughts deeper than "how to kill this monster or survive this storm," but he assumed that that perfect being in the bed may turn a gnome into a poet with a mere glance.

A knock at the door alerted him. "The Doctor", he thought, and went to answer it. He was a man older than himself, and shorter, but he looked quite the professional. As a good doctor of the Frontier, the man did not ask questions and proceeded to check on the young man who was obviously sick. "He is so white that perhaps I was late" –the doctor thought in his way to the bed, and his professional stoicism failed, as was the rule, when he laid eyes on the dhampir.

Noting that the poor doctor had lost his senses in the grip of the same evil, Cronos coughed heavily before speaking:

- He is a dhampir, I believe he was caught near the explosion a few hours ago...

Of course all the people from miles around had been aware of said huge explosion; a delegation from the capital had already been dispatched to investigate, but still the doctor looked at Cronos, silent for a long time, as if his neurons were shaking each other in an attempt to start functioning again.

- Dhampir? –and of course this was the first thing that came out of the mouth of the physician. "But of course", the doctor slapped himself mentally, "no simple human could hope to look this good…".

- Yes, I would appreciate if you checked him –continued saying the Hunter, making the doctor to turn suddenly at the almost menacing emphasis of his words. In that moment the dark-eyed man was more dangerous to him than the beauty with the blood of the undead in bed, he though as he knew, without a doubt, that if he went to the sheriff to warn that they had a dhampir in the village, he would be dead before dawn.

- Sure, no problem... –he murmured, if only to express aloud his "compliance ", and then turned his attention to his extraordinaire patient.

He would have never imagined to see a member of that scarce species in person, but then he had to hold on not to overturn the dhampir in order to find a pair of wings. That beauty could have only fallen into this world from Paradise and by mistake, he thought, spell bounded. He focused on checking him and, urged by his medical curiosity and the confidence of Cronos around the dhampir, his not so unshaken hands headed towards those thin, firm lips; finally, after a moment's hesitation, his fingers carefully parted D's lips.

The long and white fangs he found there, which looked to him as solidified moonlight, ruined any romantic notion that he could have made about his real nature. That in the bed was a bloodsucker monster, nothing more. If he looked like an angel it was just a cruel divine joke.

Or a joke from the Devil himself.

Half an hour later he had already treated the dhampir for nuclear poisoning (among others things), but the internal damage was extensive and would require a miracle to heal. He was surprised he was still alive, and he made it known to Cronos.

- I heard that the dhampir regenerative abilities compare to those of the Nobles themselves… –said the doctor, trying not to look too closely at his patient–. But I'm not sure he will survive, and it is impossible to recover from this level of coma...

It was a waste of breath to say he could only be treated in the Capital, and nobody in his or her right mind would accept a dhampir. It was kind of a shame tough… to know that this beauty was going to disappear from the world.

- Thanks for your time –said Cronos: He had already heard what he wanted to hear; he put two gold coins in the other's hand. The doctor took his payment/bribery and Cronos locked the door behind him, certain that the man would not cause him trouble.

He walked slowly towards the dhampir, savoring the feeling of the moment. D was the most famous Vampire Hunter in the history of the Frontier, and he was at his mercy: that was not something that happened every tuesday.

He stopped beside the bed for a moment. As if D were a doll, he held the elegant right hand and, not too quickly, pulled off the black gloves, revealing more of that delicious skin. He was surprised to found not the slightest imperfection; after all, these were the hands of a Hunter, the most dangerous job in the world. The other glove followed the first and Cronos sat beside him and then took off the long trench coat, which was black, like everything in D; at a much faster pace he got rid of the tight shirt, armor parts and other accessories of the job. The coat was particularly heavy, and he made a mental note to check it later... much later.

The clothing wasn't willing to go without a fight, or so it seemed to Cronos, but finally he retired the last piece covering D's torso. He was not disappointed; it was as if the Creator had given himself to the task of sculpting nothing but perfection in that flesh, and his hands lost their composure in the act of devouring it. D's body was cold because of the Heat Syndrome, but Cronos was burning, so he did not notice. He slid his face on the dhampir's broad chest, cursing his beard for the first time when it did not let him feel completely that smooth skin, which wanted to trick him into believing that it was mere flesh. His breathing quickened, the clothes began to be a nuisance, and he did not know how he had undressed, only that he had never done it so quickly.

Cronos kissed him savagely, opening the lifeless mouth with his tongue and regretting that D would not cooperate. He retired from those delicious pale lips; the movement caused the dhampir's head to fall toward his left shoulder, where his hair had swirled into a mass of perfect darkness. Cronos grinned, licking his lips.

D tasted like blood, no surprises there, but something occurred to him while admiring that half-open and wet mouth, with the arc of pearly fangs barely but still evident for him.

The dhampir could help in something after all...

He separated from him for a moment, and gasped when he felt cold air against his inflamed virility. He grabbed the pants of the other, and slid them down more slowly than his lust required of him, revealing, not knowing that it was for the first time, the whole of his being to mortal eyes.

D was a sea of chiseled whiteness, every single curve worked to perfection. Looking at him Cronos was unable to find his breath, almost forgetting what was he doing except that his sex had never known such pleasure, and he planned to satisfy it deep within that ephebe, until he had no energy left.

**Xxx**

Dante pushed the door of the inn with more force than he should had used, but he did not care. He was tired, hungry and dusty. Not even Mundus and his whole infernal court would prevent him to find his way to a soft bed and a plentiful dinner. "Dinner in bed?" –he thought, smiling in advance. Trish was not there to stop him, so yahoo!

Sparda's son stopped suddenly, just when an old man approached him with his room key. He felt a strange presence in there, but could not say what it was...

- Sir? –the inn keeper called him, looking surprised at his new client. His clothes were the most peculiar: a red trench coat of complex manufacture, high boots with various metal ornaments, but not like the Hunters used to wear. His clothing was, how to say it... "Stylish" was the word; they served no immediate purpose, as was the norm; it was striking to say the least, and anyone who wanted to travel safely around the Frontier would frown if they were to see him. Furthermore, his hair was… white, silver? He looked about 34 years old and was remarkably attractive, but those glacial eyes, barely touched by blue, appeared to be several millennia old, and the sword he carried on his back would look more natural on a monster than on a man.

- Yes, hi –replied the Demon Hunter, still trying to identify the source of that presence. He took the key and started up the stairs... and then went backwards.

- Sir, your horse?

- Don't have one –said Dante, without paying much attention. "A traveler without a horse?" –thought the innkeeper, shocked–. "In what times we live?".

Nevertheless, the octogenarian retired to bed with a yawn, wishing for his collection of weird clients to not blow down his business before dawn.

Anything could happen in the Frontier.

Dante went to a door at the end of the corridor; the presence that had intrigued him enough to forget food and rest came from there. He was as sure of this as he was that his father had been a demon and the world was nuts.

TBC…

(Here goes the **review=^.^=)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**WARNINGS:** Hm… this chapter has a little nudity (very little, sadly, but D is not easy to undress, jiji), a rape scene (more or less), some violence, and spoilers from the novels.

As always D, Lefty and the Frontier belong to master Hideyuki Kikuchi. Dante and Vergil belong to Capcom. If they were mine, well, jeje, D would use less clothing and a MOE crowd would constantly persecute him.

_**A great flame follows a little spark.**_

_Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy_

"_There goes his first kiss"_ –thought the carbuncle from the safety of his retracted body, but still capable of looking everything that transpired. If it did not do something soon D. would lose more than his first kiss… but what to do? It didn't have strength left to kill Cronos, and its caution shouted not to do something unless its actions really bare results.

Cronos took off D.'s pants, and the parasite did not know whether to laugh or be indignant. No one had ever seen D. naked, and it almost lamented to be incapable of seeing the face his host would have put before this. The alleged dhampir had cut arms for pettier insults.

Cronos grabbed D. by the ankles and brusquely split apart his legs. He lifted up his slim hips a little with both hands, and the moment the carbuncle saw the tip of his sex pushing between D.'s legs, it decided that precaution and its cousin could go to outer space.

- What the?

Taking possession of the dhampir's arm, the carbuncle went for Cronos' neck and gripped for all it was worth. The surprised Hunter held the pale wrist of his attacker and both of them struggled fiercely.

Just a little more and the parasite would have a suffocated werewolf hunter in its grasp, but it never saw how Cronos got a dagger. It cursed when it felt the blade going through D.'s wrist, barely bleeding. The werewolf hunter took advantage of the momentum and plunged dagger and flesh into the mattress, grabbing the dhampir by the neck and pushing him against the bed.

The Hunter breathed hard, his angry eyes looked upon the unconscious face of the dhampir, trying to understand what had transpired here.

"But he is in a coma!" –he thought frustrated and still asphyxiating D., until he realized this and let go. He looked D.'s left hand cautiously and then twisted the dagger into the flesh.

There was no reaction, not even a temblor on those eyelids… had he been careless? After all he was talking about Vampire Hunter D.

The door opened suddenly.

- Ups! –was all Dante offered in regard of this scene. "A nude dude, another sleeping (also nude) dude in the bed, a dagger, and blood… hm". Something in that combination was definitely wrong, and, as he was a man of principles and action, he enlisted himself in the side of the defenseless and hit Cronos right dead on the face with just a little of his demonic might.

The werewolf hunter was thrown effortlessly to the other side of the room and landed unconscious on the floor (and not in a flattering position). Dante adjusted his glove with a confident smile on his attractive face and approached the bed, but his pale eyes opened as they had never done it before when he saw that fantastic being exposed in all his naked glory before him, posed as if the dhampir were offering himself.

- **Wow** –the infamous son of Sparda was at a loss of words (a miracle by itself), so he concentrated in closing his mouth and restarting his brain. "Oh, he has a dagger in the wrist, genius" –he reproached himself, but at the same time he was surprised by the little amount and sluggish fluency of the blood. It was then that his stunned mind placed, at last, the presence which had made him forgot his stomach needs.

This man, or creature, was clearly not a human.

- Wow –he exclaimed again, this time with a curious smile in his lips. Maybe this future wasn't so bad after all. Moments like this didn't occur often, and not even Dante knew what to do. "Trish would cover him, yeah…" –he said to himself, not without smiling after imagining said stunning blond girl admiring the absolutely beautiful guy in the bed and just covering him after being satisfied with the view.

They were demons, what could he say? Dante shrugged to himself and got closer to the bed; he retrieved the dagger and tossed it around, then he took a blanket from the other bed and covered the dhampir. Sitting in the mattress, he checked the injury, but his professional coolness was crumbled when he felt that oh so soft skin.

He stopped blaming the hurried would-be-rapist, and turned his attention to that gorgeous face of pure white framed in lustrous blackness… "What is he?" –Dante asked himself, without releasing the injured hand. He looked younger than him, around 20 or 24 tops, but the infamous son of Sparda knew better than to trust looks alone.

- Earth calling to stranger –Dante turned around like lightning, and the carbuncle felt a cold sweat drop running down the temple it haven't when the cold metal of a gun was pressed against its skin.

- What's there? –asked the demon hunter, as unworried as seconds ago; his voice seemed incapable of loosing that arrogant and almost casual hue.

- "What"? That's rude, son of Sparda.

Hm, ok, that had surprised him… just a little. Without releasing his finger on the trigger of Evony, Dante spoke again:

- Do you read minds? Come were I can see you, but I'm warning you: no funny business.

To his escalating surprise, D.'s left hand turned around to face him… and there was a tiny face on it. "He had to have some flaw" –thought the demon hunter, shrugging miserably, which made the carbuncle frown offended.

- Hey! I have feelings, you know? –it complained, but that rusted and derisive voice told miles away from the opposite–. But lets skip to the introduction part –it continued speaking as if they were chatting in a bar–: I'm the left hand of the dude you just saved, nice to meet you; and I give to you my gratitude since my host is too comatose to do it himself.

- You are a parasite –told him Dante, all calmness–. ¿Demonic, spiritual? –he inquired, raising a gray eyebrow.

- I'm a special type –said the proud carbuncle–. But I'm not an unwanted guest, if that's what you are thinking. We have a society of sorts.

- And boy you talk too much –said Dante, remembering a certain pair of talking swords in the walls of his office. He couldn't imagine to live with a talking hand… he would chop it off 3 days after, tops.

- C'mon, I don't have the chance with this guy –grumbled the hand, its little black eyes tossing to D.'s face direction–. You have no idea how boring it can get living with him, the horse is more expressive.

- And "he" is…?

- Oh, I forgot you are not from this time. Ok, "he" is the most famous, feared and grumpy of the Vampire Hunters of this era; and, I'm just phrasing him, you can call him "D." –it said, imitating the emotionless tone of the dhampir and, apparently, enjoying it.

- "D."? That's a letter not a name.

- Ask him yourself, but I think it's just a product of his infinite denial or of his minuscule imagination, pick your favorite.

The son of Sparda looked again at the unconscious Vampire Hunter; his thin lips were slightly apart, and it was the maximum test ever infringed to his self-restraint by the gods not to get closer and cover them with his. The creature was simply astonishing, elegant, so exquisitely crafted that it seemed impossible to be right there watching him, and not be punished by the audacity. The fact that it was clearly a male didn't bothered Dante is he knew it should have.

But what was something as trivial as gender in the face of Perfection?

- And is he some kind of succubus in disguise? – Dante wanted to know, just in case he were melting like butter on waffles for some kind of demon (wouldn't that be ironic?).

- Nah, he is just too good looking, don't feel bad for your inadequate blood flow right now, it's perfectly normal around this fella. There was this one time when a sociopath old man wanted to keep his head in formol, and that was one of the sane ones. Not even computers are spared.

- Right… –murmured Dante, regretting the clear mental picture those words had evoked–. So, what you say your partner is?

- Hm, would you feel better if I tell you he is a dhampir? –the carbuncle didn't want to say more to that, but it also didn't want to lie to this clever, and obviously powerful, half-demon. Reluctantly it remembered one of the few occasions when D. exteriorized the unfathomable sadness that corroded him like a cancer…

_What I´m I…?_

Not even the ancient carbuncle could answer him, and anyone who would had seen him that time would had parted with a broken hearth. Maybe not even his father knew what he had created, like a crazy god in a fit. An after that Dracula had simply left him go the world, alone, to test him like the specimen he was.

- A dhampir? The son of a vampire and a human? –Dante had heard of those about a year ago; and for what he had seen the people hated them with a passion, as they hated everything concerning to vampires.

- Do you want his measurements?

- I will cut you and throw you into a cave full of starving dragons, how do you fashion that?

- You talk like him –said the happy carbuncle–. I smell a great friendship.

- Right…

- And as my first token of friendship, I will give you a tip: this guy always pays his debts; if you help him, he could make use of his many resources to help you to return to your own time –the parasite temped him, and Dante had to admit it was indeed a tempting offer (and it was not for the benefit of staying more time around the most grand beauty he had laid eyes upon). This was the first time in two years that he glimpsed at some sort hope to accomplish his goal.

- And what are these resources you speak of? –teased Dante, crossing over a leg with all his arrogance. They only lacked the drinks (and two naked guys less) to make that a business meeting.

- It is wrong for me to say this –the carbuncle played its mysterious card, but since it was coming out of the talking appendage of a dhampir, it worked fairly well–. It happens to be that my partner is the most beloved child of a certain grand personage, do you follow?

- Cut the crap –said Dante calmly, but smiling dangerously.

- Oh, fine, you win –conceded the hand–. He is the son of Dracula, but never ever said that aloud again if you don't want all Hell to break loose.

Dante refused to say that aloud, it was against his coolness. But seriously; the son of Dracula? THE Dracula? Even worst, there was a real Dracula?

A bright ray of light, single illuminating him, would have been suitable for the moment. Now he understood the "D." But what exactly he had to say in that? Was he not the infamous son of the Dark Knight Sparda, rebel of Hell and savior of mankind? At least his old man (demon) didn't appear in any classic book, THAT would have been embarrassing. Dante laughed to himself, thinking in returning with Trish and say to her that he had decided to abbreviate his name to just "D." It wasn't fun anymore hearing his clients saying, "oh, it's Dante, and you hunt demons?"

Their parents had had a strange sense of humor. "Dante and Vergil", it was lucky they hadn't had a sister, or they would have completed the starring trio of the Divine Comedy.

- You know? –said the carbuncle, raising a crease that passed for an eyebrow–. This sure proves you are not from around here; any other person, O.S.B. or monster would have gone crazy at hearing that piece of info.

- Oh, please –answered Dante, without a bit of anxiety–. I haven't yet met any celebrity that is really as great as his name. And what's so terrible about this guy anyway, isn't he just a fancy vampire?

- Nop, He is the Sacred Ancestor of the vampire species, the one who submitted mankind to ten thousand years of slavery. And you will be incapable of finding a more terrifying enemy. If He decides for you to suffer, not even Death will spare you the horrors He can conceive to torture you forever… I would do anything if somebody could convince our friend here to desist of the idea of slaying his father… –the hand lamented, bending over in distress. For it to not have a body of its own, it sure managed to be very expressive.

- No kidding –Dante sounded unimpressed nonetheless–. So, his mother was human, eh? –he commented pensively, seeing that they had more in common than his initials.

- Yap, he also has a twin brother, ring a bell?

- Really? –it was actually funny, and Dante couldn't help but to say –: And is he out there causing random havoc and misleading his little brother?

- No, he is VERY dead.

- Oh, and that's good or bad? –Dante could not imagine seeing another being identical to D. It seemed wrong somehow…

- I guess it is good… –answered the chatty carbuncle, thoughtful–. But I can say that this guy wasn't happy when he had to kill him, even if he was a little bat-shit-crazy.

- Well, having to beat the crap out of your stupid twin is always an ugly business.

"That's sneaky terrain" –thought the parasite after seeing the warm completely leaving those glacial eyes after pronouncing the deceptively casual words.

Dante made a suddenly move. The carbuncle could just see Cronos falling down again to the ground (and in another bad position). Dante rearranged himself into a most comfortable position, undaunted by the powerful werewolf hunter, and said:

- Fine, so what's the problem with Sleeping Beauty and how I fix it?

There was an amusing idea –thought Dante–. Could he wake D. up if he started kissing him like crazy?

- That's easy enough –said the carbuncle, relieved to see that Dante was willing to help. It was probably because he thought himself capable to kill D. if that turned out to be a trap… it smiled scornfully. "It would be interesting to see him trying"–. You just have to get us some earth, water, start a good fire and this guy will be ready to return to his boring, solitary and miserable imitation of life.

- My god, he sounds like the soul of the party! –said Dante, all sarcasm.

- You have no idea –the carbuncle whinnied–. His concept of fun is to ask for room service and make noise when he walks. You are not going to notice when is awake.

Dante raised both eyebrows before this statement. Maybe –and just maybe–, he was about to embark in a quest with someone that –just perhaps–, was even more boring and dull than Vergil, as astonishing as that sounded.

Would he be up to the challenge?

**TBC** (probably)

Battery low… need reviews to recharge…


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

WARNINGS: Hm, no warnings this time, this is as light as it can be =^.=

_**I have heard the key**_

_**Turn in the door once and turn once only**_

_**We think of the key, each in his prison**_

_**Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison**_

_What the Thunder Said. __T.S. ELIOT_

Like civilized people (or half people and parasite), Dante and the presumed nameless Carbuncle decided that to kill Cronos was the practical thing to do in such a situation. So, it was adieu! to the Werewolf Hunter and hello! to his belongings and nutrient rich corpse.

Fortunately the parasite was a being of many resources (ugly resources), and as D wasn't conscious to stop it at the moment (hooray!), and Dante was not picky, Cronos' corpse was aspirated to the carbuncle's "stomach", saving them a trip and many problems. A human body had all the necessary ingredients to recharge the beaten dhampir to his full health.

Dante, not even lifting an eyebrow, took a step behind when he felt the great energy expansion that occurred right after the cadaver disappeared in an unrecognizable mass in the air.

He had seen so much, much worse. This was a trip to the park.

The great power concentrated in the dhampir's body and he gleamed as if the Lord Almighty had directed his glance upon him.

D opened his eyes, full aware already, and it was as if a statue had suddenly come to life. His cold eyes, like polished steel, shined with the life he had consumed without knowing it. Dante just thought he couldn't believe he looked even better than just seconds ago, and THAT was something; the dhampir was like a forbidden vision escaped from the dream of some god.

D sat in the bed, and the sheet slipped down to his flat belly; Dante didn't miss the chance to admire the way that fabric slid over the porcelain skin. Then the Demon Hunter noted that D was looking at him, and also that he didn't look as impassive as he would have wanted.

After all, the dhampir had awakened naked in a strange bed and an even stranger man was looking at him attentively... he had never found himself in such a brutally awkward situation; the worst part was that he could not remember how in the name of the eight circles of Hell had he ended like that. The last thing he could recall was falling into a coma... and why was he feeling so good? It was almost as if...

- Hi, I'm Dante, and you own me huge –the Demon Hunter introduced himself, smiling from ear to ear and all the way to his pale eyes–. I can call you "D,", right?

That could only be blamed on a particular someone. D raised his left hand, and found a smiling, tiny and satisfied face, of course.

- What's happening? –asked D to the carbuncle, his soft and emotionless voice was a great contrast to his apparent youth. Dante haven't expected it to be so deep, and he lamented the fact that that voice was like an extension of his owner, provoking without meaning to... what would be of the person that D actually intended to seduce? The Demon Hunter felt sorry for the poor lady (or bastard).

- The recently deceased Cronos, Werewolf Hunter, interrupted my heroic attempts to bring your comatose derrière to this town –told him the parasite, as the best minstrel would have done, and D narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly–. And when the aforementioned departed was about to take your overrated virginity, HMMPF...!

D closed his left hand in a tightly fist, with enough force to break each one of his fingers, but didn't made a sound or gesture. He had heard more than sufficient, and seriously considered to chop off his left hand, put it in jar and seal it in a very unpleasant dimension. With reticence he looked upon the strange man that was still looking at him, and Dante gave him credit: D didn't looked as embarrassed as another in his position would have been.

- I assume you stopped Cronos –said the dhampir, with that voice that was not as cold as it was emotionless, as if the fact that he had almost been raped wasn't anything relevant to him.

- Yes, that's correct –said Dante, walking around the room with apparent unconcern. The half demon admitted to himself that it was becoming difficult not to tear away that annoying blanket and continue with what Cronos had started. His inner demon was stirring in his cage, and he wasn't exactly sure what was making it react that way. He also admitted that the word "virgin" had wreaked havoc in him... how was that possible? He had taken more time in learning how to shave than in seeking the warmth of a shared bed; but he supposed that when you looked like D all became complicated.

- I repay my debts –said the dhampir, serious but somehow stiff; his eyes searched for his clothes, he wasn't awfully comfortable talking naked. He found them scattered around the floor near the bed, and that made more graphic for him the fact that he had almost been abused in his sleep... but what was he expecting? –he thought, closing his left hand by reflex, not wanting to hear the malicious voice of the parasite–. That someone would pick him up and help him? Or at least let him die in peace?

- I am... not... saying... anything... –tried to speak the aching carbuncle. D seemed to snap out of it, and relaxed his fist, gaining a relieved sigh. Dante looked at him curiously.

- We must leave immediately –talked D again, putting away the depressing ideas from his mind. Those actions were to be expected, he told himself; he was aware of the effect he had on people (and things, and anything with eyes and a mind), so his own reactions were naive if he was expecting otherwise.

Although that man, Dante, had helped him for no apparent reason –he remembered himself. That brought and awkward feeling that he rapidly dismissed. And he was very tired of feeling exposed, so, making a display of his famous boldness –and with no warning whatsoever–, D stand up and started to pick up his clothes.

Dante hoped his nose wouldn't start bleeding like a fireman hosepipe in the fire of the century. He was very sure that there was some law written somewhere that prohibited D to do that. The dhampir started with the pants, of course, and, with the fewer movements possible, he dressed in record time.

- Hold your horses, pal –said Dante, moving his hands in front of him for emphasis–. I walked all day and I'm not going anywhere without a full stomach; are we in the same frequency?

As an answer D went to look for his belongings, and then did a rapid checking. Dante observed that he looked for two extra seconds at a solitary red capsule before return it to the saddlebag. Just his hat was missing and, as a reminder of its importance, the morning sun announced itself in its entire splendor through the window. D grimaced at the light, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Dante, and went to close the curtains that had slid with the previous mess with Cronos and his own revival.

- What do you think about this agenda? –asked him Dante, even though his tone didn't ask permission as much as it made an announcement–. I'm going to have breakfast, and then we can leave here as souls haunted by the Devil and all his bitches. You know? The best way to cover a murder is to fake normality, have you never seen C.S.I.?

D looked at him for a long moment.

- He has a point; you must concede that much –intervened the carbuncle. It normally used a frequency that only D could hear, except when it wanted to piss him off, of course. To embarrass him in public was one of its few joys.

- What do you want as repayment? –asked him the dhampir. His tone was all business, and he adjusted his sword to his back without releasing his deep gaze from Dante.

_Let's have wild hot monkey sex!_

_Bad, bad demon_ –told Dante to himself, biting his tongue until he was certain those words wouldn't leave his mouth. It was a pity, tough...

- To return to my own time, the year 1993 –answered the Demon Hunter, but his attitude didn't correspond the seriousness of the dhampir. D observed him for a few moments, as if evaluating him.

- How did you come to this era?

Dante smiled. It appeared that this guy had encountered weirder things than time travelers.

- I was hunting demons when I happened to saw my twin brother –continued Dante, looking directly at his dazzling interlocutor–. I followed him to a hole and, voila! here I am.

- It must have been a dimensional fissure –commented D, without showing any emotion. It seemed he was always like that, far away from sorrow, joy or anger, at least in the outside–. To return you would have to find another one... or to create one, but the possibilities to return exactly to that year and dimension are dim. You would need to make use of the research facilities of the Nobility if you were to succeed.

- Your hand says that you have your resources –Dante looked at him significantly.

- It talks too much –said D, with the same chillness, but his left hand closed slightly, and a sigh came from there–. There is a fortress –continued D–. I can take you there.

- And operate the Frankenstein's machinery?

- I don't know him –replied D with a straight face.

Dante opened his mouth, thought it better, and then closed it again, trying not to laugh. Conceded, D was worst than Vergil, which reminded him of the little detail of what would have been aiming his brother for in going to this world... Had he been conscious of what was he doing? Or he had just wanted to get away from everything they both know?

- Have you heard of someone named Vergil?

- The Divine Comedy?

- Eh, no... It still exists? –asked Dante, happy of finally find someone who understood what he was talking about, even if it was a very boring book.

- I found the book in a library in the Capital –answered D, asking himself why was he still talking with this guy while looking at those cold eyes that danced between blue and gray. That was when his senses picked up the mixed blood in the man–. You are not human.

Boy, but he was bold. Good thing he was drop dead gorgeous –thought Dante, smiling naughtily.

- My father was the demon Sparda, my mother was a New Yorker –answered Dante without blinking–. Have you heard of him?

- No, and what is a New Yorker?

- From New York, the city in the U.S.A, famous Big Apple, crazy taxi drivers...?

- A human then –said D, walking farther away from the window. It was almost funny how much like him this stranger was resulting to be... and how different.

- I suppose my old man is not as famous as yours –yoked the Demon Hunter, but the horrid aura that suddenly surged from D told him that he hadn't taken that good. It was worst than a trio of Mundus in a very bad day in Hell, he thought, but didn't show it. His haughtiness didn't leave him space for open fear demonstrations... or fear at all.

Dante came closer to the enraged dhampir and did the inconceivable: he clapped his shoulder in the most carefree manner possible.

- There, there, keep that foul temper for the hunt or you are going to ruin my breakfast.

His line said, Dante turned his back to him and walked out of the room.

D looked dumbfounded at the closed door, his ire incapacitated by that weird attitude. He could count with the fingers of a single hand the beings that hadn't been horrified by his unearthly aura; and that guy even got so far as to touch him...

_He is a half demon all right_ –thought the dhampir, but there was something else...

- Does he not remember you of someone? –dared to ask the carbuncle, already better from the earlier squeezed.

- Someone?

That D was even answering was an occurrence as rare as a comet, so the hand didn't miss the chance to continue:

- He is like you a long, long time ago.

The dhampir, of course, didn't comment on this, but his hand knew him well enough to know that he was giving it thought.

- I wasn't like that.

3 comets should be crossing the sky in that very moment.

- Oh, well, more boring, with more issues, but... yes, like him.

"I still believed I could live...".

TBC... I hope.

Please review!, reviews are good for my health and inspiration =D


	5. Chapter 5

Again no warnings, you can read safely… for the moment, but the yaoi-weather speaker announced some lemony and possible a little gore for the next chapter… muajaja.

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**Chapter 5**

* * *

_So tear me open and pour me out_

_There's things inside that scream and shout_

_And the pain still hates me_

_So hold me until it sleeps_

_**Metallica, Until it Sleeps**_

* * *

- And that's what I call appetite –said the owner of the inn after seeing Dante finish a fifth order of his menu. He was sure this man could win a food competition against a lesser dragon, and then eat the dragon for dessert.

- Anything else, sir?

- Ahhhh –exclaimed Dante, satisfied at last; then he turned to see the older man with the happiest smile on that side of the Frontier–. No, that would be all, thanks; a long travel awaits me and I need the horses of my partner ready. You know: black beard, black eyes and sick friend?

- He is not going to have breakfast?

- He got a call at dawn; I'll pay his bill.

Not asking questions to travelers was a maxim in the Frontier, so the old man just nodded despite that the smile in those ice like eyes gave him shivers. He got the sensation that they hid a cruel joke.

He forgot all about it when D appeared, as every other people in the cafeteria. The Vampire Hunter was carrying his saddlebags and Cronos' without any apparent effort, and he walked in a perfect silence to Dante's table.

- I will be in the center of the town –said D, emotionless as always, and he deposited a good quantity of dallas in the table, ignoring the dazzled gazes of the human guests while he walked to the exit.

An infatuated and long sigh made them return to their senses. A young man of chubby complexion, which rounded eyes were even rounder now, had expelled it.

- Why couldn't he be a woman…? –he exclaimed, still watching the door through which D had left, a dreaming look in his eyes.

Dante almost chocked in a big belly laugh.

* * *

D came out of the inn and, reticent, walked to the street and to the direct light of the sun. He felt naked without his hat, which had the double purpose of protecting him of the sun and of the stares of the people. To be there so freely in a human settlement felt wrong in more than one way; it had been too long since he lived among humans, and that memories were just too painful to recall… they always ended up with his long lost mother and her blood splattered in the rocks and her lovely face…

D knew he didn't belong here, or in any place in the world of the light.

He walked at a faster pace, seeking the few shadows of the buildings, looking almost invisible to the residents of the town who could get a glimpse of the figure in black.

After not so a few minutes (the town was small but somehow messy in its distribution, and he was not in the mood to ask for directions), his search stopped him before a small structure with a wood sign painted with a dress and a tie. Buying clothes was something he hadn't done in a long time, but necessity called.

- You know, this could be a good millennium to consider a change in style. I was thinking something _nouveau_ –said the carbuncle, for his ears only, and this time it got a half-hearted crushed fist before the most famous Vampire Hunter in the Frontier entered the small shop.

A lady let the dress she was holding fall to the floor, followed by her mouth, when the dhampir entered and walked to the counter, his long hair free and making a show of it (while it lasted). So simple an action never before had been so alluring. The young woman at the counter forgot about her pained back tooth, the hot and humid day and the rest of her mortal problems when that celestial beauty told her:

- I need a hat.

The woman seemed to process every emotionless syllable before answering, in a voice more adequate for a zombie:

- What size…?

A black wide brimmed traveler's hat fell on his head, matching perfectly.

D turned over his shoulder and found the amused eyes of Dante, but he couldn't conjure anything to say to the other Hunter. He just looked at him in a heavy silence that seemed to throw daggers and missiles to the son of Sparda.

- What? You wanted it green?

- How much is it? –asked D to the young woman, who was looking to one gorgeous man to another with eyes like saucers. What were the chances of seeing two specimens like those side to side and in the same lifetime? She must have died and gone to heaven; that, or it was raining men outside.

- 50 dallas…

The dhampir paid the exact amount and went out in silence. Dante caught up to him just in time to saw him covering the lower part of his face with that gray scabbard he was wearing over his neck.

- Not a great fan of the sun, eh?

- Do you want to go buy crucifixes? –counterattacked D, but his serious and correct tone hasn't varied in the least, and Dante found it more funny than if the dhampir had sounded genuinely upset.

"He is shorter than me" –noted Dante now that they were walking side by side. He was 1,96 m, so D must had been 1,87 m… his great memory remembered with medical precision D's measurements, but he didn't think it wise to bring that up.

- I'm good to go; you are not going to take breakfast? –asked him Dante, and, to the surprise of the carbuncle (which was one the only one who could be amazed for this reaction), the dhampir answered:

- I do not usually eat human food.

- Well, I don't blame you; by what I have tasted here there's nothing much that it's worth eating –Dante said, and his eyes looked with yearning at the horizon–. I would surrender mankind to the Evil for a pepperoni pizza…

- How old are you?

The sudden and blunt question took Dante off balance. The alleged dhampir didn't seem to take interest in anything, but, of course, it was virtually impossible to say anything accurate about him (besides that he was gorgeous even for a myopic monkey in a trip to hell). Apparently he spoke so little that he only asked what interested him, and skipped the intervals required by social protocol.

- Why? Are you going to buy me a birthday present?

Silence.

- Ok, 70, but don't tell my fans –answered the half demon, seeing the street ahead-. And now that we are getting personal, how many?

There was no answer, and Dante felt deceived. But never defeated! Soon they returned to the inn and D went without a pause to the stables and his cyber horse, which has already being brushed and fed. He checked the saddlebags and then mounted and went to the street.

Dante was waiting for him outside, on his boots and with his shoulder bag. D looked at him with and obvious question on his beautiful face.

- You are going to start taking nude sunbaths before seeing me in one of those hacks –said Dante, and, with and exaggerated gesture of gentlemanliness, showed D the road–. Shall we go?

- You need a transport –established D, and not even the tail of his mount moved.

- When you see one, page me, **boy**–Dante started to walk.

**BOY?** –the word reverberated through D's head like a gigantic Chinese gong. He had been called all sort of things, but never a BOY… and the mocking smile on that attractive face didn't help, even if he knew that Dante was only trying to mess with him.

And (oh to hell with his famous self control!), but D couldn't stop his next words:

- I am not a boy.

Dante swore by his very natural blond mother that the dhampir had sounded just a little tiny winy aggravated. His smile widened to demonic levels, and, without stop walking he said:

- How old could you be? 24, 26?

- A horse.

Dante blinked, stopping to see his new travel companion. Something that could have been a superior smile danced in the deep eyes of the dhampir.

- Return for the horse and I will tell you my age –added D, his voice not tinged of any particular emotion. It was like listening to the wind talk (except that the wind wouldn't try to bribe you).

- Right… –said Dante, dragging the words a little–. You got yourself a deal.

Without saying more, the Demon Hunter came back to the inn and in a few minutes D saw him approaching on top of the deceased Hunter's horse. Dante looked horribly uncomfortable (so was the horse), and D tried no to smile under his scarf.

- So? –asked him Dante, while trying to maintain the other's pace, manipulating the reigns as the devils let him know.

Lucky he was a talented man.

Half man.

- 6150.

The number got stuck in Dante's throat, but it passed quickly… what got stuck again was the realization that D was the most ancient virgin man of the world.

Virgin dhampir?

Whatever, that was not the point.

The Demon Hunter started laughing soundly, bending over the horse mane and getting a long stare from the dhampir. D just didn't caught what was so funny about his age.

He almost asked, but stopped in time. D couldn't get to understand this guy, but he admitted that he liked something about him… what could that be? His brilliant mind gave him the answer almost immediately. "He is so human". But would he continue to be like that in 1000 years, 2000…? Or his heart would be extinguished slowly by the rejection, the losses and the horrors of the world?

He did not want to see that. He had seen to many tragedies, to many horrors… maybe the real misfortune was that his heart still lived under his cold armor, after so many centuries. He was an avatar of dead and destruction, more beautiful than the angels, but maybe it was for his heart that his father called him his only success. Dracula had experimented on him since the womb, had tortured him, trained him, but never once explained anything. So he really didn't know why he had been spared when so many had died.

Dante stopped laughing when that unearthly aura let itself be felt. It was like the howl of the mythical beast of the Apocalypse, announcing the end of the world. Those who were subjected to it never again had a peaceful night's sleep, but the son of Sparda just whistled soundly, getting the dhampir to remember that he wasn't traveling alone.

- I knew I had that effect on women, but I never thought it would get to you.

D inclined his head in an ambiguous gesture, adjusting his hat even lower over his eyes. A heavy silence accompanied them for the next 4 hours of the travel. Dante even missed the talking hand, but it seemed that the parasite had a fine sense of self-preservation and knew when his host was in one of his bad moments.

And the memory of Dracula was the only thing, besides the blood, that got that sinful beauty out of his self-imposed ice prison. That, or the rare pearls of humanity that from time to time lightened up his never-ending darkness… but those were scarcer than roses in winter.

* * *

**TBC**

Revieww! Studies have shown that reviewing is good for your health.

:P

No, really… Lefty told me…talking hands know things…


	6. Chapter 6

Warnings, warnings… the usual, nothing to traumatize anyone… I hope so…

Maybe… (Whistles).

And sorry for the delay (and the shortness), but I need reviews for inspiration :P Many-many-many thanks to everyone who take the time to left one!, it makes me a happy dwarf (and happy dwarfs write more than sad ones).

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

_Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained; and the restrainer or reason usurps its place & governs the unwilling._

_**T. S. Elliot. The Voice of the Devil**_

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They stopped in the clear of a grove some hundred miles from the town. To Dante everything was the same in the dusty Frontier, and he would have killed to see a New York mall, obstructed with the lively people of his own century and not that desolate landscape.

Curse said people, and the vampires along with them! They were all a bunch of douches.

There was a lake some meters way, and the Demon Hunter dismounted uttering a profane moan, happy just to be free of the cybernetic nag. D dismounted elegantly and without a sound, of course, tying his horse to the closest tree with expertise. He took off his hat and seated under the same tree, leaving his long sword in the grass next to his left hand.

- And what's for dinner? –asked Dante, more than sick of the long silence, his hands together and looking at the dhampir.

- I'm sure you'll find something –was the caustic answer.

- Are you always this joyful? –teased him Dante–. You certainly would be best pals with my brother; you two could stare at each other all day and play to see who blinks first.

- Why were you following your brother?

Again with the rugged questions that came out of nowhere, Dante said to himself, although he supposed that it wasn't strange that D would like to know. As long as they were traveling together, they could encounter enemies or acquaintances from one another; it was fit to their jobs to be prepared for anything, and to know your partner was part of the job.

Dante had no way to know that D didn't care for any of this.

- I fought against him on the past, and I thought he was dead –said Dante, not as carefree as he would have liked to sound. Vergil was a sore theme–. So, you can imagine that seeing him alive and running shook me up a little and I didn't see how profound was the hole.

- You think he was he conscious of his actions? –continued D, in the same inanimate tone that was making Dante to want to get closer and shake him until he dropped it for something more animated… a stone for starters.

_Will he always have been like this?_ –Dante found himself thinking. D gave him the impression of had been born that way, with the black coat and everything… But he didn't believe it, not at all. The Demon Hunter had the solid believe that if a high demon lord like Sparda had loved his mother and understood the humans, then anyone could have feelings.

- Now that you mention it… –murmured Dante, thoughtful, a rare expression on him–. Vergil looked kinda gone, more than normal I mean…

- It is possible that someone had lured him to that fissure –talked D again–. And if the one responsible allowed you to see him, it was probably a trap. Do you know if somebody wanted you out of the picture?

- The majority of Hell's population, some fat cops and one or two angry husbands –answered Dante without a sweat–. But I personally closed the Hell gates; there was no one in earth with that kind of power.

- Then someone here orchestrated it.

- To what end? –suddenly the Demon Hunter felt submerged in a Conspiracy theory, and the deep eyes of the gorgeous dhampir just added to the drama. Under the light of the moon he looked like a creature of the dream world; his skin almost glittered and he gave the impression of being the owner of all the mysteries of the world.

- That I don't know –said D, nonchalant and ruining the fantasy. His Left hand went under his coat and retrieved the same bottle with the red capsules that Dante had seen before.

- Do you have some candidates?

D didn't answer him.

- That's a bad habit, to left people talking alone –Dante complained–. Didn't your mother teach you manners?

- Yes, she also taught me to not to talk if I had nothing good to say –answered the dhampir; just him was capable of saying this without his voice giving away anything in particular.

- Oh yeah? –snapped the younger hunter–. Well, my mother taught me that talking for the sake of talking is one of the greatest pleasures of humankind, and as I don't like to stain her memory I give you permission to say everything you want. I'm sure your mother would understand.

- I am not human.

- Me neither, but who cares for petty details?

D saw him with the same stainless look on his marvelous features and –again–, said nothing, dismissing his words like and old man would do with the ramblings of a particularly annoying kid.

The feeling of wanting to shake him became like a titan in Dante, and in those moments it was slamming at his chest as if preparing to go to an Olympian war. If he didn't do something, he was going to explode.

And Dante considered himself a man of action.

The son of Sparda used much of his skill, reflexes, speed and experience killing lethal things, to capture those thin lips that were much like a gate of iron.

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**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**x**

Thanks so very-mucho for those readers who left a precious review, they really light my _cosmo_ (sorry, _Saint Seiya_ was my first truly Japanese anime).

_**Cuttlebug**_: I hope this chap will compensate a little for your previous frustration :D; your review made laugh a lot, LoL, I'm really grateful and I hope not to leave you in a worst condition with this new entry (I think a cookie will suffice to go through it).

_**Lilangelz: **_Thanksss, you are very kind, I'll really try to translate the next chapter sooner.

Ehem, hem…

(Insert political tone)

To all those silent readers, I encourage you to not follow the norm, rebel against custom! Abandon the closet of anonymity and left a review which, in exchange, will procure more updates so future generations will enjoy a lengthy reading.

That being said…

_**The Warnings: Just a lot of drabble, some kinkiness and… BEWARE, the sinister cliffhanger!**_

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_**The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.**_

_Proverbs of Hell_

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Against Dante's, D's lips turned out to be warm, silky and exquisite; not wasting time, his hand captured D's nape, pushing the dhampir further against him while caressing his body and running his tongue around a sharp fang.

A low growl obliged him to return from Nirvana; his hunter's instinct made him withdraw from the dhampir, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. D was as tense as Dante had thought he could ever be; his head was so down his chin it almost touched his chest, and the Demon Hunter would not dare to bet of what was he thinking. Maybe of the top five ways to kill him?

At that distance, all D could feel, smell and see was Dante… and he found it so appealing that he almost got up and run for all he was worth.

- Stay away… -spoke the dhampir, and his voice was of someone who fights for control. His breathing, imperceptible before, was agitated, and between the large locks of silky darkness that hung down on his face Dante could see the fangs growing… His eyes were shut firmly, as if D didn't want to see himself.

- Why? –whispered Dante, bending down with deliberated slowness to those pale lips. The Demon Hunter fell prey to an almost irresistible and abrupt hunger; his dark self was screaming in delight, for it had found at last that which could quench his sinister desire.

And now that he was at his mercy, it was not going to let it go.

D would have wanted to push him away, hit him at least, but he didn't dare; he didn't want to touch Dante in any way, his sole closeness was conflictive enough just as it was. Why wasn't he going away? The dhampir opened his eyes.

Rubies bathed in fresh spilled blood, that was what his eyes had transformed into. Their scarlet shine was seductive; the hunger behind them was inhuman and it seemed that nothing in the world could ever restrain it, not even the iron will of Vampire Hunter D.

But Dante was not afraid. On the contrary, his blood boiled as his other form protested under his skin… What was it that made him react in this way? In that moment he could not care less, and still, he saw a shadow of sadness in those crimson orbs, and it was warning him; but that agony just encouraged him to go on.

- Do you want my blood? –asked the Demon Hunter, a tempting smile on his lips, just centimeters away from D's countenance, which looked even whiter than seconds before-. Try and take it…

The hand of the Demon Hunter moved like a thunder. Grabbing D by the collar, Dante pulled the dhampir towards him and spinning at the same time, effectively trapping his mouth into another merciless kiss.

D found himself on his back in the grass, immobilized by the portentous strength of the other hunter; a growl rose from his throat and was almost drowned in the mouth of Dante. His fangs were fully extended now, but the Demon Hunter didn't care; the only downside was just that now he could not kiss his lips.

"That calls attention to other parts…" –thought the son of Sparda, smirking as the cat that got the mouse, just before dodging a bite that could have taken his head from his shoulders. In moments like this he gave many thanks to his inhuman heritage; and so, with the ability that reduced the best martial artist to a crying baby, he connected a punch to the dhampir's chest and then grabbed both his wrists above his head. With both knees in the grass at each side of the slender hips, Dante pinned the other against the ground, and their bellies join each other like they were meant to be that way.

D let out a moan that could not have be mistaken for anything else, much less when Dante felt his arousal against his own.

"Who would have thought that he was so sensitive when he is not feigning to be a rock?" -thought Dante to himself, even when he was also burning like never before; his senses yearned for more of those adorable noises, relishing in the power that emanated from the divine form below him. The Demon Hunter moved his hips with precision, obtaining a little sob from that precious and feral mouth; the dhampir looked more than gorgeous from his advantageous position, an he was enjoining the view even tough he was also making use of all his might to conquer him.

All his years of beating infernal emperors and beings of the darkness were surely paying off.

He was playing with Hell's fire, but hadn't he done that all of his life? In that instant Dante realized how sick and tired he was of always restraining himself, maybe because, for the first time, it was not necessary; he wasn't going not kill D by mistake, he didn't have to watch every single move he made, nor keep the demon away, afraid to scare someone to death… Besides, it was so clear that D liked it, so why he resisted it so much?

Dante got the impression that the dhampir had denied himself every single minute of his long life. He had learned a long time ago to go with his instincts and stop with his heart (blessed be his mother), but maybe D had not been so lucky…

D stopped looking at Dante; his head went backwards forming an elegant arc, his mouth open and the fangs shined in the pale light of the night. He trembled and cursed his body. He founded himself at the edge of an abyss he had never crossed, and Dante –that totally stranger-, kept pushing him, with his hands, his body and even with that haughty and indomitable voice. Didn't he understand what he was doing to him? NOBODY had ever touched him like that, never… At least the blood thirst by itself was common to him, and D avoided by any means to put himself in a position where he could feel tempted.

Not even in his worst nightmares would he mix blood AND sex in the same equation, but there he was, without notice under someone's body, prey of his heat and the artful way in which Dante made his skin tremble with desire. His famous willpower was evaporating rapidly in that delicious madness, finding that he NEEDED the contact, de closeness of another person, almost as much as he craved the blood… But he should not –could not—get carried away by the momentum; he had to coerce himself not to smell the life force under that soft skin, ignore its sensual siren call and at the same time not pay attention to the almost painful, desperate, pressure building in –it felt like— his hole body at the same time.

It seemed like and impossible task.

The dhampir didn't want to think how weird it felt to be touched in that manner by another. The proximity in itself was completely alien to him, as he never allowed it. D barely repressed the impulse to get closer to the half demon, and clenched his fists until the bones cracked, frustrated, furious by his own need.

Making a display of great flexibility, Dante leaned his face even closer to the dhampir's, looking at him as if he truly understood the vortex in his soul.

- What are you so scared of? –whispered Dante to him, and when D encountered those pale eyes he saw a hunger that rivaled with his own. That being was truly a demon, the dhampir thought; behind that smile and his arrogant attitude, was hidden a monster who loved excesses, violence and chaos. Would that be the taste of his blood? His fangs hurt in the cold night, denied of his due sacrifice; it was ironic that someone accused HIM of being afraid, but it was accurate. His own life or dead were of no consequence to him; he had just one goal… But, must than anything, he was afraid to loose his scarce humanity and become the monster that was the owner of his hate.

D had never crossed that line in all his centuries; he was –although he hated to remember it—conditioned to resist.

So, he did the only thing he knew to do in that situation.

Dante proffered an exclamation when he felt D propelling upwards without any apparent effort and then, showing a speed that surprised even him, inverted their position. The Demon Hunter looked at the dhampir with a little surprise, and just remembered a phrase that he had read in some of those books that Vergil piled up in his room when they were kids…

_At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise..._

_That denseness and that strangeness of the world is absurd._

D breathed in ragged gasps, and was looking at him as a god deciding the destiny of the insignificant mortals at his feet. The sinful shine in his eyes was still there, and Dante felt that, if he continued to watch him, he would offer his throat himself and every single drop of his life, gladly.

Blood spattered in Dante's face.

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_**TBC…**_

I can see you, yes… you on the other side of the screen are leaving without depositing a review… Me and my black kitty know how to find you, beware… the black kitty knows dangerous arts for those who do not leave reviews.


	8. Chapter 8

To _**Neko**_: Thank you so much for your gorgeous review =^^=, I'm trying with all my might to don't fall in the dark and smelly Out of Character Path (D doesn't make things easy, Dante is gonna have to spank him… muhahaha). So you didn't know little Dante Sparda? Hehehe, he is awesome and funny (and smexy), I totally recommend that you play Devil May Cry 3 (it is the best of the 4 games, in my humble opinion); but avoid the anime series!, the plot was very disappointing, and they didn't capture Dante's nature at all.

x

**Warnings**, oh! I'm delighted to tell you dear readers that this chapi has blood, swearing, cruelty and some other things that are considered plainly bad (bad me, bad me). So, with that in the out, enjoy! (I hope). And sorry for the delay, (again, bad me, I'm a horrible person); I'm also sorry for the atrocious format of past chapters, I hadn't noticed that the did so much damage to the original format… sigh.

Oh, right, and I don't own D nor Dante, and don't get $$ for this, bla, bla.

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**Chapter 8**

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_Who is the third who walks always beside you_

_When I count, there are only you and I together_

_But when I look ahead up the white road_

_There is always another one walking beside you_

_**William Blake.** What the Thunder Said_

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Dante Sparda could barely saw the movement that had separated them. He seated himself in the grass and searched for the dhampir, still flustered, frustrated, blood smeared but more confused than anything else. The gorgeous source of his lust and confusion was just a meter and half away from him, on his knees in the ground; his breathing was clearly agitated but somehow muffled…

Dante crouched down and came closer to the now silent half vampire. D's body was shaken by sudden light spasms, and the Demon Hunter had to crouch a little to see him face to face.

D was biting his left arm, crushing muscle and bone in a grotesque way; but even more disturbing was his expression as he did so. He seemed not to be there at all, and whereas the blood poured down, his eyes didn't drink in its redness anymore.

The action more than the pain where enough to trigger a distant memory, cloaking D's mind in the sinister fog of a distant past…

That particular night, five thousand years ago, his father had been testing his regeneration capacity. Dracula was a being that constituted himself of different elements of each age he lived in. He appreciated the arts of the Renaissance as much as the torture devices of the Dark Ages; he equally loved science and magic, and, in some bizarre way, nothing in him contradicted itself, as if he were the owner of Time.

D hadn't been able to understand the amalgam of his father's madness when he was young, because in that time he hadn't known what madness was. The young dhampir just couldn't believe that the same being that taught him how to appreciate the sculptures of Buonarroti could also throw him in a pit full of hungry werewolves and, with the coldness of the best scientist, annotate the time his son's limbs grew again after Dracula ordered to cease the attacks.

The older always looked fascinated when he saw D crying in a pool of his own entrails and blood. "It is just pain, and pain is nothing but an electric impulse in our brains" he said, almost amused. To this his son always answered him with a single word: "no".

It was not just physical pain; it was not just fear what composed his tears. It was the fact that Dracula had waited until D's mother had killed herself to take him away from the world and the light to sink him in that nightmare. Even worst, he had shattered the fragile illusion of knowing that his father was alive somewhere… that maybe he loved them as much as his mother told him countless times. That tiny dream had shielded him against the ever-present reject he saw in the eyes of the humans around him, against their cruelty and the loneliness of his existence; it had given him strength to take care of his mother, to even smile for her…

But his father was a monster, as the humans who hated him said all the time, and maybe his mother had been wiser than his son when she threw herself from that cliff and ended her pain. When D was a kid nothing had ever made sense, and he wished it had continued like that, but Dracula had other plans. His father had brought him to his home, raised him like the genius he was; he had trained him, showed him the marvels and horrors of the world he had shaped with blood and fear.

He had killed him a thousand times, experimented with his body and mind until his heart content. D particularly disdained those months when Dracula decided to lock him away in a cell, far away of even his presence, without any form of sustenance. Alone with the hunger, with no more blood than his own… To bite himself was an habit that came out from that cell, and in his darkest nights D had the certainty that he was not completely sane. Some day, maybe without him noticing, would he become as crazy as his father?

That was his worst fear.

His fangs returned to his original length, and D released the press on what was left of his arm. He looked inanely at the ruined limb, and Dante almost fell hypnotized when that lustrous tongue ran over the thin lips and the blood over them, almost absently, as if D didn't notice his own actions… his beauty was smeared adorably with the crimson liquid, adorning him like jewels would adorn a king.

And it was also a painfully sad vision. In that moment D was like a statue honoring Loneliness, condemned without remedy. The moon itself seemed to whisper the simple truth: he could not be happy; he could not be a part of anything good.

The dhampir stood elegantly and walked in silence to the lake. Dante imitated him, also strangely quiet; he wanted to wash away D's blood from his face, and he used those few meters to think in something to say. An "I'm sorry" seemed a little short, and it didn't cover his feelings… he was sorry for the arm that D had almost ripped apart in order to prevent biting him, but had it been really necessary?

_We are what we are_ –he thought, and then he repeated it aloud. D didn't look at him, he was cleaning the blood that stained his face, and seemed to have no problems with his left arm. Dante had only seen those regenerative abilities in himself (by association in his douche of a brother), and higher demons of course.

- That is not an excuse –D spoke, and his voice didn't give away anything of what was crossing his mind; it sounded even more distant than before, as if it belonged to something long dead.

- We are what we are –repeated Dante, and then he looked at him with a cocky half smile that he was not sure D was going to see-. But that should not be something that stopped us to be what we want to be.

- I am a Vampire Hunter –answered the dhampir, rapidly and with certain roughness, surprising Dante. It looked like D was not inexpugnable, he thought, smiling even more. That meant the dhampir wasn't completely dammed.

- And that makes you so cozy and happy –mocked him the son of Sparda, but without malice, just amiable concern.

D, of course, didn't answer. He was not going to tell Dante that it was just impossible for him to be happy; he could already hear another sermon…

_Why don't you smile, does it hurt or something?_

_Lina…_

To remember her in that precise moment was a very bad idea, D scolded himself. He had gotten fond of her; more than he should had been or wanted to. To see her suffer and die because of his father had just reaffirmed his convictions. He was going to destroy that cancer; he would kill Dracula, body and soul… and after that… _**After**_… it was a word he never used. His father would probably destroy him first, so "after" was a useless word to him.

- You sure think a lot –Dante mumbled while splashing himself, making his silver hair look darker but still shiny; the blood was still there, D could smell it, and his throat ached for it, whispering how wonderful would it be to taste it over that rough chin, along with the water and the others smell…

_**Enough**_… It has been a long time since he had to use that word on himself rather than his annoying carbuncle. With sheer willpower he forced his hunger and stupid wishes to lie down and shut the hell up, keeping to himself a warning about tasting his blood.

After all that odyssey, it would serve Dante well if he ended up convulsing in the grass and crying out for a quick dead. What would be the effect of his blood in that half demon? Since it killed the average vampire and human, it made him curious… maybe because he knew next to nothing of the infernal lineage.

D checked his left arm, or better said, his clothes, and almost cursed aloud. The armor and cloth were ruined, which meant he now had to change, not because he was prudish, but the smell of blood disturbed him… Which brought back another issue. He searched the bottle of red capsules in his coat, but didn't find it.

Dante saw him coming back to the place of their failed, _ehem_, _attempt_, and search for something in the ground (he was pretty sure it was not his self-control, or sense of humor).

- Something broke? –asked him Dante, not at all ashamed or sorry.

_**Your neck**_, D almost answered, but didn't want to fall in that level. He was a mature being of 6150 years, not a teenager who retorted to every provocation… the dhampir repeated that many times, until he assured himself that he was not going to break Dante's neck… an arms… and…

He avoided seeing again his last dried plasma capsule, ruined in the wetness of the ground, and picked up his sword to search for another place to change clothes and sleep… or trying to.

That moment Dante remembered he was hungry (for food), and by the time he found something edible, cooked it, burned it and ate it without any joy, D was already sleeping (or faking to). It didn't surprise him that nothing bothered them that night, for nothing (besides werewolves maybe) was THAT stupid.

The son of Sparda fell asleep in the cold ground, head leaned on his crossed arms, in two or maybe as much as three blinks. He dreamed with red eyes and something that dripped in the absolute darkness...

_**Turn back now, Son of Sparda...**_

_**misery will be your only gain at his side.**_

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I want to thank all the people who reviewed past chapters, you are the best! (deep vow), and for all the people out there that are going to close this window thinking in leaving without writing a review, I´m going to quote my dear friend Zophiel Lagace:

- Recent studies had showed that authors who receive reviews finish their stories.

- The speed at which an author writes is directly proportional to the number of reviews he/she receives.

- The more the reviews, the more text in chapters.

- The quality of a story is always related to the quantity of the reviews.

- The number of reviews will always act as an accelerator for the happiness of an author.

- The resistance of a reader to leave a review (laziness) is equivalent to the resistance of an author (laziness) to keep writing.

^^ So wise words! See you next chapter =3


	9. Chapter 9

**Warnings: Some swearing (it is Dante's fault);grammar mistakes; Spanish-related-confusion (caused by author laziness to re-read her own translations of this, and because of her current pain; also I'm still fighting the FFnet and its horrible ways), bewareeee!**

I am very grateful to the people who added this story to Story Alerts and Favorite Story; and of course the ones that left a preciousss review have a place in the Slash/Yaoi heaven, and the MOE shall be theirs forever ^.^ And I apologize for the looong wait, but health problems and tons of work keep getting between me and the keyboard (reviews are better medicine than laughter by the way…)

–_ ´– (stare)

I don't own D nor Dante (but I wish I did… oh, the possibilities!), and I don't make tons of $$ for this (nor for selling photos of their intimate moments –whistles-).

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**Chapter 9**

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_Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves._

_Confucius_

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D, as was his habit since he was 1102 years old, woke up at dawn, alerting Dante who vociferated something that sounded suspiciously close to "fucking dhampir" and "ungodly hour". The dhampir in question paid him no mind and put on his hat, sword, rearranged his large coat and went to his mount.

- Where the fuck are you going?

D saw him in silence, truly confused for this unexpected rudeness, although just his left hand could have noticed this; it was obvious that he was not used to no-morning people. Dante was one of those, and currently he was cranky as hell and in no mood to go anywhere.

To prove this, the Demon Hunter who was capable of dodging bullets, killing demons and eating pizza at the same time, almost tripped on a branch and cursed soundly 3 times, stumbling like a drunken man before reaching his horse; he scratched his head absently, looking for something in the saddlebags and yawning like 3 lions together in a yawning competition. His hands came out with a small coffee machine, two big cups and two pots; he then sat in the earth and started making coffee, not thinking in anything except that those were NOT hours decent enough to be awake and that the dhampir was defective.

_People of the night_ his well-formed and firm ass.

D decided not to comment, and so he waited in silence, trying not to think in the events of the infamous last night… and he definitely made and extra effort to look anywhere else besides that strong neck and the way the attached muscular chest moved while preparing whatever Dante was preparing.

Inwardly, he cursed his father, **hard**.

Dante yawned again, but his grumpy expression was a little softer now that coffee smell permeated the morning air. Mornings had been his bitter and sworn enemies since his seventh birthday, and he could barely think without his beloved cup of coffee. When it was ready, Dante served the steaming-hot dark liquid in the two cups, added sugar and held his red cup with a placid smile.

- Sit down and drink your coffee –he said to the silent dhampir.

Weirdly enough, D sat down (a safe meter and a half away from the other), took the cup and downed the steaming-hot contents in one shot; then he returned the empty cup to the floor and kept as silent as ever. Dante barely restrained himself enough to not open D's mouth and see if his tongue was melted.

Not that D used it much, but still.

Giving the dhampir a funny look, the Demon Hunter drank his coffee, longing, as always, for the flavor diversity of his own time… was it much to ask for a vanilla flavored double espresso? Nevertheless, he was glad coffee still existed, for if not he would surely have committed suicide many months ago.

Two cups later (D didn't repeat), the now two awake hunters went to their horses, and Dante grasped a glimpse of D while he mounted._ You cannot see much of him with that many clothes _–he found himself thinking-. It was a shame, really; to see the dhampir riding while wearing low jeans would be fascinating (Dante remembered that slim and powerful torso perfectly well, although he lamented not having turned D around in Düseldorf to get a better look at that derriere).

If he had known the dhampir was such a sex-repressed case, he would have taken a looong peek.

_What is he waiting for?_ –the Vampire Hunter asked himself, already on his mount. He was a "to the task man/dhampir/whatever"; never to indulge in anything that smelled remotely recreational or without some practical purpose.

- I think he is trying to see your ass.

The carbuncle's words were not warmly welcomed, and it took D longer to process them than it would take him to solve a monstrous equation covering China's Great Wall (not that it existed anymore).

- Don't worry –the carbuncle could not refrain from add in the following silence, and his hoarse voice seemed to be smiling; D didn't need to see it.

-Of what? –the dhampir regretted asking just as the words left his mouth, but he blamed it to last night events. Maybe letting the parasite to be a nuisance was better than remembering the feeling of another body against his, of the warm that would never be for him…

- At your 6150´s, your tushie is still cute, you should make its debut.

Oh yeah, the carbuncle was smiling with all his teeth, and the Ultimate Hyper Ultra Mega Squeezing would not take the delight away from him… he had restrained himself enough as it was.

The avatar of beauty did not speak; he didn't close his left hand with inhuman force nor he told the parasite to watch his mouth. He did worst.

D ignored him. The carbuncle was disappointed, _but the day is still young_ –he told himself with a grin.

Dante caught up with him on is horse, barely keeping his balance on it and yawning so loudly that D was impressed a horde of assorted monsters and bandits weren't on them; not that it troubled him, not at all; it has been a long time since anything in that devastated earth scared him…

So far, the closest to the truth of his nature was that he was an instrument of death and destruction… why would he feel fear? Sometimes it amused him that he was able to feel at all.

The two of them took the road in silence. Minutes later, Dante observed the figure of the dhampir against that cold morning, and just for fun his still half asleep mind tried to pictured him in the middle of a MacDonald's… and failed, even worst when he remembered those red eyes and that terrific hunger.

Seeing D he realized how lucky he was, maybe because Dante had never met another hybrid before. He had the best of both worlds, and had long ago accepted as part of himself the long for destruction and pleasure that was the demon's hunger. It didn't impede him to pass for a human being, and was part of his strength in the hunting. It had also gave him a nightmarish puberty, but wasn't puberty always a living nightmare?

- What's our agenda for today? –asked Dante to the older one (although D looked younger than him, so it was very difficult to think of him as his senior).

- You ruined my last capsule –answered D, stoic to the bone marrow and looking only at the gray horizon-. We will go to the village of Krauhausen to get more.

Not a "you molested me last night".

Not an "I almost tore apart my arm for you".

Not a "oh, Dante, thinking of you robe me of my sleep…".

No… a capsule was more important that any of that.

Dante looked at him for a long moment, speechless… What was needed to take D out his stupor? (besides a juicy artery, closely enough to bite). Vergil was a happy dwarf compared to this dude, he thought. Dante shrugged and decided to indulge him, saying:

- Ok, village of Krauhowhatever, here we go! But –he added, in a very natural manner–. Don't you prefer a bite between friends? It would be more practical, and a lot faster.

D cursed inwardly, again. His trademark strategy of "ignore all questions and don't ever mention again the touchy subject" was not working, for the first time in centuries. He decided to implement Plan B: change the subject.

- It will take us all day to reach Krauhausen –said the dhampir in his detached tone, not even flinching. Dante, mimicking him, but with an octave oh his elegance (1/4 of his brain was still snoring) said:

- You have never bitten anyone, seriously?

The undefeated Plan B was failing him too. So D implemented the almighty Plan C: his unearthly aura let itself being felt, darkening the morning…

- Oh please –Dante smiled to him his ever-so-cocky smile, exuding self-confidence and a little of his own darkness–. Is it not easier to answer?

The carbuncle laughed, hard. It was so priceless he could have cried.

- Never –answered the dhampir, at last, and his voice was like the iceberg that had eaten the iceberg which sank the Titanic. Maybe if he answered, he thought, the other Hunter would shout up.

Sadly, D was not acquaintance with the say "you feed it once and know it stays".

- You know? –Dante said, in his best imitation of a wandering philosopher–. To deny you something so fiercely just makes it more tempting.

- Appetite begets appetite –was the immediate answer, although D himself ignored why he bothered to answer at all. He had never discussed it with anyone… he was branded by the rules of his father, with His belief that it was due to that accursed deed that the vampire race was doomed to extinction… that and their dilute notions of love and consideration.

D feared that, once he tasted it, he would be unable to stop. He had hunted many a dhampir for that reason… he just could not skip the lesson, not when the blood flowing in his veins was that of the most ancient of the Dammed.

The truth was that he was just incapable of getting out of that cell filled with the smell of his own blood, it mattered not how long and far he ran.

- And what good is all that self-control to you?

- Did it look to you like I have control over this? –asked him D, and Dante was surprised to hear a tinny-tiny sketch of anger in that smooth voice.

Yeahp, he was touching a nerve, but Dante wasn't famous for his cautious attitude. He always went and took down the front door kicking it to shreds.

- If you have never eaten chocolates, how do you know you can't stop? –_hm, cherry cream filled chocolates would have been a better analogy… hmmm, dhampir covered with cherry cream…_

The carbuncle would have killed to have a bowl of popcorn for the occasion, but he simply listened.

- I will not risk it –answered D, looking at the dark road ahead of them, his voice darker-. Besides, my bite does not left the being in question without consequences. And no –he went ahead of the dangling question in Dante's lips–. I tested it in monsters, not humans.

- Ugh, you have bitten monsters?

- Why did you fight your brother?

Oh, Dante didn't expect that one… but he had no way to know that the Vampire Hunter D always got his bloody retribution, in one or another painful form. And now that he had pestered him so much, Dante had to answer.

- When we were kids a demon pack went to our house –Dante started, a little more serious than a second before–. They tore apart my mother… I managed to escape, and I thought that Vergil had suffered a similar fate. Years later a met him again, and it was not because he wanted a sobby filial reunion, but because he got this wonderful idea of opening Hell's Gate and conquer both dimensions.

To say that aloud actually made the loss of his twin brother to ache less –Dante thought–. But just a little… Bat-shit-crazy or not, he still wanted his boring brother back, even if it were just for a second opportunity to put some common sense into his hard skull.

- Maybe all twin brothers are megalomaniacs and bitter-ridden bastards? –They heard the voice of the carbuncle saying, and then his hoarse chuckling was immediately followed by a pained gasp due to the Olympic squeeze courtesy of D.

- So you had a brother –Dante said, feeling awfully comfortable for some reason.

- I have had many brothers –was the saddened answer, and it was so painful to see him saying that that the cocky demon hunter didn't pry for more. Even so, _**that**_ still went between them, noted Dante.

It was obvious they were very much alike, but there was something else… Both of them carried a darkness that scared normal people away and alienated them from Mankind, but it was not enough to throw them into the Abyss. Better said, they did not permit themselves to fall; they held to the light even after all the evil and the oceans of gore and tragedy they had seen.

And it was just themselves who really understood how difficult and lonely it was to accomplish that. Dante felt that his words would be received not with horror or pity, but with something that was almost unknown to him: understanding, and from someone who –by the looks of the little the dhampir left him see–, had suffered worst. But, if he was going to be being fair, D had millenniums of advantage… and a classic monster for father, an Armageddon and a face that turned people into drooling automats.

- Do you have contacts in this village of Kramufasen? –asked Dante, already awake, and so, hungry.

- Something like that –was the, of course, vague answer, although the carbuncle was surprised that his host even bothered to utter that few words. And he thought that he would grow large, abundant and curly blond hair when D kept speaking–: If we get separated, ask for Fisher Lagoon; he is the owner of the most prominent Brothel in town and, probably, of the entire village.

- You say so for experience? Do they make special discounts for Hunters?

The carbuncle almost laughed from Heaven to Hell, but it still ached so he refrained himself, and soon enough he was left dumbfounded: D looked at the other Hunter, darkly enough to provoke him a shiver (and he was attached to the dhampir…).

- Sorry, sorry –Dante apologized (kinda), lifting his hands in peace and then asked–: He owns you a favor?

- You could say that –answered D, returning his gorgeous gray eyes to the road–. But do not trust him.

- Yes mom.

That was going to be the longest trip in his looong life, thought D.

* * *

**TBC…. Or not? Oh, Shakespeare…**

**Leave a precioussss review, and the Fic Fairy will leave you a new chapter under your bed ^^**


	10. Chapter 10

**Warnings: **The usual, nothing gorish or weird enough to keep you awake at night if you have gone this far reading this fic ^^ Maybe the only warnings are the spoilers to books 11 to 13, and the length of the chapter… health problems impeded it to grow more.

Special thanks and hugs to Zophiel, Gif, Ginger Blackmore and Lutessius; you are as cool as coffee (with sugar and cream, of course).

**I don't own D nor Dante, and the two of them are glad for that =^^=**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

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"_**Families are like fudge... mostly sweet with a few nuts."**_

_Author Unknown_

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D avoided sighing with all his might: he DID NOT sigh (at least he had not done it in the last 3 thousand years). Yet, despite the frustration and the annoyance, he really couldn't get angry with Dante; he even admitted he liked the man, but at the same time he wanted to spur his horse and ride as far away as he could get from him… he have had that same sensation with his twin.

Yearning, fear… If not for that girl Mia, he would never have stayed in Sedoc… and he would not have killed his Siamese twin brother, and the girl in question would not be a vampire now (his father would be still a douche bag evil bastard). But that was past and done, and it had been inevitable; and yes, his twin had been a little crazy, AND had tried to kill him.

In his Book, attempted murder was rewarded with a lethal touch of his blade, with no exceptions or discounts.

But he was getting off topic, and he NEVER got off topic, nor ranted nor spaced out. So, the point was that he desired the company, but feared the bloody ending that seemed to mark his passing on the world. It was simpler to go alone to his only goal, and win or die alone.

On his side, Dante forced himself to stop staring at the silent dhampir; in one hand, because it was not manly (or cool) to drool, and on the other hand because that untamed shadow that clung to him like a cape and the undefined sadness was enough to depress even him. Instead Dante concentrated in what he was going to do once they got to Krauhausen; it would be a good opportunity to ask for his brother, eat something substantial and –if he was lucky—to get greatly laid.

He was a half demon with necessities, and he hadn't attended them appropriately for a long time… and to travel with that intoxicating beauty definitely DID NOT HELP. His inner demon had never reacted in such a way for anyone (and he had seen succubus and all of the other lusty demonic bunch). What would that be? –he asked himself–. And what were vampires anyway? They were not demons, they did not feel like ones... or maybe it was just D? Too many questions, he would have to ask (not nicely) to the next fanger he met –Dante added to himself, smiling like a true demon with the thrill of a possible hunt.

_x_

_x_

That was an especially calm morning in the village of Krauhausen. Birds chirped, kids laughed, grannies tended to their cookies and men walked without any ominous cloud over their heads. And maybe it was due to this that the people didn't get immediately alarmed when a not rhetorical cloud (made of dust) approached them at the speed of a mad horse spurred with a fork.

Everyone knew that any decent monster waited till dark to attack, so, what in the name of all the forgotten gods could that cloud be?

The cloud, with its wake of dust and all, kept moving forward and without any apparent intent to stop, but before it could provoke true apprehension, it past harmlessly among a few startled villagers and finally stopped some meters beyond them, emitting... a neigh? Immediately after that pitiful sound, something jumped out of the vanishing cloud, and many heads followed its trajectory through the sky until the perfect landing _it_ performed, not so far from them.

Dante Sparda, with his bag on the shoulder, gigantic sword to his back, red coat and silver hair to the wind, and his haughty expression well placed in his handsome visage, threw a gold coin to the closest amazed villager and said:

- You, keep the nag alive; and you –he spoke to another, which saw him as if he could not decide between blink or run for dear life–: Where is the best restaurant in this place?

The designated and dumbfounded man pointed to a building 20 meters from them to the south, and the Demon Hunter thanked him with a gesture of his hand and ran to the place.

He was hungry, MIGHTY hungry, and he would have eaten the horse if not for all that metal and oil (puaj), and the dhampir hasn't agreed to be his breakfast. Imagining D on a table, covered only in tomato sauce, just served to give Dante another kind of hunger, worsening his already bitter situation. But at least now he was seated in front of a table and waiting for his meal, although his eager gaze on the kitchen door had on edge the nerves of the other customers.

The cookers had never worked so fast.

Half and hour later, when the villagers were recovering from the acrobatic apparition of Dante, their nerves suffered the onslaught of D's entrance, but at least the Vampire Hunter didn't come on a half dead horse nor he looked like he was considering to eat them raw. D also was purposely covered under his wide hat and gray scarf, but still the people stopped to saw him pass, suspecting where he was headed and fearing the reason for his arrival since his trade was evident. Since the demise of Lord Vlad Balaz (the vampire who, as the vast majority of them, had proclaimed himself the lord of that region) Fisher Lagoon remained, more than ever, the implicit chief of the village (and owner of half the town); so, it was expected that all suspicious or important characters that entered town went to meet with him. But why would a Hunter visit their town? It could only mean that trouble was not far.

D paid them no mind and continued riding calmly to Fisher Lagoon's, the presumably most prominent Pleasure Center in the entire Frontier. When he arrived at the fancy stables of the huge place, the carbuncle chose that moment to speak:

- That guy surely has an appetite, maybe is a demon trait –D was dismounting and tying up his horse, his gorgeous face as emotionless as ever–. Are you sure you don't want to be his dessert? Face it: your resistance was not very convincing.

D stood immobile and silent as a statue. The carbuncle almost laughed seeing that all the people near them suddenly ran terrified but not knowing why; but he knew that this time he had hit a particularly tender nerve… but he had not been able to stop himself! It was enough that he had resisted to comment on the heated encounter in the forest; the dhampir surely knew that he could not ask so much of a lecherous parasite. Since then he had swallowed remarks like "D. is for Dirty?"; "what would Dracula say if he looked at you know?", and "if you want to continue it, I promise to be very inconspicuous". Oh! He had so many more, but now he was going to face his punishment with honor, and the carbuncles of the future would talk with admiring praise of his temerity.

_x_

_x_

Dante reclined in his chair, put his boots on the table and smiled with a happiness that the manager of the restaurant did not share. Now it was just a matter of seeing that the natives had good coffee and good-looking daughters.

His inner demon emitted a complain about this, and Dante frowned and told himself that the son of Dracula was not going to provide his utterly precious body to that kind of activities, and it mattered not how much he wanted him.

_Hm, better make it two good-looking daughters_. Dante stood up, paid, and was going to leave the place when he felt a familiar aura…

Could it really be…?

_Verg…?_

For a moment Dante could not think of anything. In those years, among the weird and jaded people of the Frontier, he had fought to survive and don't give up the hope to return to his own time. To find Vergil had been something to get himself occupied and focused, because the rational and bitter part of his mind had told him that his twin was truly and completely lost since the day he had jumped from that cliff in Hell, too proud and pigheaded to just admit defeat and come home…

_Maybe somewhere out there even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one…_

_Lady_ showed a soft side of her sometimes, Dante thought, but it was not a frequent event (she trying to boss him around was the norm). Anyway, the truth was that he had cried for his brother, but he frequently asked himself if Vergil would have done the same, and the answer was "no" most days; and despite of that he had mindlessly jumped after him (literally) when he had saw his twin in a flash going through a dark and suspicious looking hole, without stopping to think that it could be all a scam and that his brother was dead and gone… or worst: alive and planning to kill him.

But those depressing ideas lost brightness when the undeniable **fact** that Vergil was close and alive settled down on his mind. That was his twin's presence, it could not be possible to fake that, and he was resistant to most magic tricks, so he took the extra-large sword of his father and run to the street, where he saw confirmed his hopes and fears.

It was Vergil Sparda, no doubt about it, but the form that presented itself in front of him in that moment was the one that he had defeated in Mallet Island, so many years ago…

Nelo Angelo, the demonic form of his brother… and also the visage of his fall.

* * *

_**TBC…**_

_**The Fic Fairy sees all; she is more cunning and tough that Santa, so bewaree if you don't leave a review, you nasty, nasty boy (or girl).**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Warnings: **Spoilers, yaoi, a little violence, bla, bla, bla…

**Again, I don't own D (along with the Frontier and all its freaks), Dante (nor Vergil), and all of them are soo grateful for small mercies =^^= Thanks to all the people who left a pretty review, they make me smile lots.**

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**Chapter 11**

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_Avarice, envy, pride,_

_Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all_

_On Fire._

Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

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Nelo Angelo, the blue demon. People fled in horror, away from the sight of him, and nobody blamed them; it was a terrible vision, floating in mid air with those completely empty and blazing blue eyes, the black skin crossed by sinister lines of an equally blue energy and the horns which evoked memories of an ancestral but never dead terror.

Only Dante was running against the flood of scared humanity, to the crazed demon that in that moment was tearing apart a carriage with his bare claws, sending in all directions pieces of the carcass and the horses in a bloody mist of violence. The younger son of Sparda dodged a flying head, suddenly feeling immersed in a bad version of The Godfather… what was the problem with his brother? Vergil was the quintessence of the Stoic Man, even when enraged…

When he was about ten meters from his twin, Dante sensed another presence by his side. He turned to see D, and he looked at the beast in a way that would have send Vergil home in tears reconsidering what "stoic" meant. His indifference wasn't even stirred when Dante draw his sword and said, in a serious tone:

- That's my brother; I want him in the largest possible number of pieces.

D turned his clear eyes to him, still emotionless.

- Go ahead –said the dhampir, tossing his chin in Vergil's direction. The demon hunter supposed that was the D-version of "nock yourself out", and didn't lose any more time. Holding his father's sword, Dante jumped to Vergil, raising a dozen meters from the ground without effort.

- Vergil! –shouted Dante, just before the alluded turned with superb speed and grabbed the edge of the weapon with both clawed hands and roared in his face. The Demon Hunter saw no recognition in the eyes of his brother, but he was more stubborn than that. Dante attacked with the savage ferocity he reserved for battles with his demonic pray, letting go as he could only do in these situations, the single place where he wouldn't have to worry about the dire consequences.

Vergil couldn't keep grabbing the sword, and received a slash in the chest but he didn't even blink. He attacked with his claws and only tasted air, roaring a second later when his back was tore open by a second slash that sent him face first to the ground.

D, in spite of his trained indifferent visage, was looking at the development of the battle with interest. Dante was powerful, that was pretty clear in the simplest of his movements, and the energy that radiated from him was calling to something in his own soul… and it was very difficult to just ignore it.

_Why?_

They knew close to nothing about the so-called demons, but now D knew they were a species to be taken into account. The form of the blue demon also intrigued him; has not Dante said that Vergil was his twin brother? That being looked as similar to a human as a werewolf in sneakers… unless they had two forms.

In that instant Dante passed centimeters away from D in his way to crash against a wall, and the dhampir watched him almost amused as Dante arose from the resulting rubble with his silver hair grey with dust, and an expression most annoyed than furious.

At least until the Hunter noticed the scratch in his red coat…

- Vergil… **YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE DONE THAT!** –yelled Dante Sparda to his crazy twin, and D heard clearly the sound of broken bones when the Hunter's fist collided with the jaw of his opponent. To this punch a lot more followed, so fast that only D saw them as something more than a mad blur. A crowd had formed some good 20 meters away from them; their eyes were glazed by so much fear as astonishment as they looked at the battle.

Not so much as a minute later, Dante was in the ground and over his brother, his fist ready to break the only intact horn of Nelo Angelo, but suddenly the empty blue retired and left two very human eyes that looked at him so very lost…

- Dante…?

The 15 minutes younger watched Nelo Angelo for a long moment before backing away, slowly and never taking his eyes from his brother's. Before his cold eyes, the black receded and gave way to Vergil, as he remembered him from that day in the battle for the Temen-ni-gru. The only failures in that image were the shoulder-length hair almost covering that face, the splattered blood and the haggard and lost expression…

_**What happened to him?**_ His obtuse, snob, proud, megalomaniac, misanthrope and anal-retentive twin brother would have died before showing himself like this to anyone, especially to Dante.

- Has he returned to his senses? – asked the soft voice of D to his side. To Dante's surprise, Vergil turned to look at the dhampir, astonished. He stood and backed down like a cornered animal; his blue eyes, identical to Dante's, were drowned in fear and anger, fixed in the dhampir.

His trembling and pale hand was grabbing his own neck.

Dante looked alternatively from D to Vergil, understanding less every second… _Maybe a vampire attacked him?_

- Verg –Called him Dante, trying to sound calm and, yes, more affectionate than he wanted to. It seemed to work, because Vergil looked at him, even if he didn't let go of his neck and the tension in him was much too obvious-. Calm down, ehm… -he searched in his mental video library for some cozy quote to use, feeling alienated from this whole situation: there he was, trying to pat the shoulder of his maniac twin! It was almost hilarious-. Everything is all right; there is no danger… just calm down.

- You should nock him down –was D's cold suggestion.

- I think I have kicked him enough for a week –replied Dante, when he noticed something-. What happened to your left hand? –in its place there was just clean cut bone and muscle at the wrist, no blood and (weirder of all) no apparent regeneration.

D sounded between resigned and amused when he murmured:

- In that case… -his right hand went to the mysterious depths of his black coat and, like a magician, came back with a jar. His public saw in silence the bizarre contents of said jar: his left hand, which was lying against the crystal in a very depressed posture (for a hand). The gorgeous dhampir elevated the jar until he was looking at it face to face and then said with a cold, cold voice to the carbuncle-: Be useful, keep quiet, and I will let you out.

The tiny mouth of the parasite moved as if to speak, but he stopped before letting out any of what he wanted to say (all by the line of "you beautiful evil fiend, damn sexual frustrated slave driver"). Instead he agreed, moving all of his form up and down, looking as miserable as it could go. He didn't want to risk D's ire again: the last time his host had gotten that mad with him, his confinement had lasted 10 years.

The carbuncle drowned another "bastard" when D opened the jar. The left hand jumped out and almost immediately rejoined at the wrist of the mutilated arm of the dhampir, leaving no mark.

- I want to know what is wrong with him –said D, all business and no preamble while he extended his left hand to Vergil.

- Yes, Master… -grumbled the carbuncle, in a great imitation of Reinfield. Dante, getting the idea, held his emaciated twin, who did not have time to protest or panic because D's left hand was already in his forehead. A glazed expression took over Vergil's features, and 5 minutes later, when D retired his hand, the half demon's eyes closed calmly.

- By the whores of Dracula! –exclaimed the carbuncle, truly amazed.

- That sounded bad –said the Demon Hunter, looking at D, who did not seem to share the bewilderment of his hand/parasite/pal, nor was about to complete the scene by spiting at the ground and curse too. If the dhampir's demeanor were to reflect the situation, in that moment they would be sipping tea in a white room with white-framed pictures of white cubes and music playing in the back, which would put to sleep dragons with the rabies.

"D" should be synonym of "calm".

Dante wasn't sharing his enthusiasm (or the lack of it), so he asked with all impatience:

- So? –he looked over his shoulder at his brother, and almost envied his forced happy state. He couldn't recall Vergil looking like that in all his life, and doubted it was going to happen again… could he get his own carbuncle somewhere? It was obviously not a chick magnet, but they would surely get to an agreement.

- A vampire named Valcua attacked him –D said at last, and Dante swore that his stoicism had failed the dhampir this time, even if it was just for a second… something big was going on. The Vampire Hunter turned to Vergil and checked his neck, barely touching him. Dante got closer too, and so he noticed for the first time the fang marks in his twin's carotid…

They were the classic marks that he was used to see in vampire movies, but Dante did not find them amusing… he was furious. Someone had fed from his twin and reduced him to a trembling sack of fear, and nobody messed with his family.

But Dante couldn't keep musing his fury. The crowd had surrounded them (he despised crowds, they tended to get violent easily, mostly around him), and he was preparing to grab his brother and flee when D turned around to face the humans with all the might of his gelid indifference. The half demon heard an almost general exclamation, and was about turn his eyes up but kept the gesture for later.

And, last alive family member or not, Vergil received the potato sack treatment, and once his twin was secured over his shoulder, Dante waited for D's next action.

One of the villagers said, with a not so brave voice:

-We don't want no monsters here!

This time Dante thought the guy has earned the jaded gesture. The situation called in his mind to some Frankenstein movie, but of course he didn't think Mary Shelley would have ever considered and adaptation of her work with such a magnificent trio of monsters (and one ugly parasite).

- We are guests of Fisher Lagoon –said D, undaunted, and this got a reaction from that small and furious tide of tridents and torches. In the back, some girl let out a long sigh: apparently it was unavoidable around the beauty of his dark colleague.

- Do you know Mister Lagoon? –some guy asked them, skeptic (scared) and readying again his old gun powder rifle in Dante's direction.

- Call him –was D's ever calm answer, but Dante could tell (without seeing the humans backing away a little) that the dhampir did not like mobs anymore than he. A dozen of them hurried to look for Fisher lagoon, while the rest was left cold and unmoving: the soft voice of the dhampir made itself heard easily and carried as effectively the power of his owner.

They didn't have to wait longer to saw approaching a man 3 meters tall, with Olympic muscles, an eye covered by a black patch (no parrot to match it) and a head so bald that it looked like a recently polished pot in the sunlight.

He was also very ugly, and presumably the infamous Fisher Lagoon.

- D, you are a sight for my sore eye! –resounded the cheerful voice of the giant, and the tension in the to-be-mob dissolved as if someone had blow it-. I really thought I would never see you again; who are your pals?

- Dante Sparda –said the dhampir, not affected by the warm welcome-. His brother needs to be attended.

Lagoon honored his Frontier breeding and put everything else aside to quickly take them to his establishment. He also quieted down the lonely complaint of a young man, refreshing their memories with the short tale of the vampire Baron Balaz's reign of terror in their city and its abrupt end by the hands of D, 15 years ago.

X

X

Dante let out and approving whistle when he saw the interior of the most prominent Pleasure Center of the Frontier. It was big, flashy and full of all the possible states of nakedness. Fisher Lagoon's was a multicolored splendor, and it offered lots of eager meat and pleasures that reinvented themselves every day.

Nothing new there.

Lagoon took them to a big suit in the second floor, and Dante left Vergil in one of the two king sized beds, at last asleep. He checked again the wounds in his brother's neck: they weren't healing, and it did not look as if they were to do it soon… that alone was worrying. He had never received a wound which did not heal immediately, even through the heart or the head, and it just served to increase his anger.

- Who is this Valcua and where I find him?

D looked at him as emotionless as ever, but Lagoon made the exactly opposite expression, making an almost comical contrast.

- Valcua is dead –said the giant, almost begged for it to be true.

- He is back –said D, and Dante had to look at the giant to see if that was good, bad, weird… or something.

If Lagoon's visage in that moment was dependable, Valcua's return was BAD. Horrible and badly wrong… very, very, very, very BAD.

- For all the demons of Hell! –exclaimed Lagoon, pale-. I suppose it was too much to ask for the Greater Nobility to just stay dead… but, have you seen him? How can you know? If word spreads it's gonna be bad…

- Valcua attacked this man –said D, and Lagoon's solely eye got so big Dante feared he would lose it too.

- Could you be so nice and post me? –asked him Dante, tired of being the only clueless foreigner in the room.

D looked at Lagoon, and the giant lost his breath; he had almost forgotten what was to be subjected to those dark and deep eyes. They were different from Dracula's, but very similar at the same time… and they told him that for D there had been no passing of time, and he was just another one of the hundreds of humans who had looked at him going alone to a horizon full of horrors that would render mad any other being…

- Leave us, please –asked him the dhampir when the giant did not stir, lost in that pale beauty without meaning to. Lagoon reacted at last and left the room, partly angry and partly relieved for being excluded in the following conversation and kept away from the intoxicating presence of the Vampire Hunter.

When D knew Lagoon was out of hearing distance, he spoke again, eyeing Dante directly:

- Your brother received the Kiss of the Nobility.

* * *

_**TBC… **_

_**My doc said reviews would make wonders for me (really, he said that, I swear it for the big mouth of Lefty!).**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Warnings: **Spoilers for the VHD novels, yaoi, a little violence, swearing, grammar mistakes (no Beta to zap my Spanish thinking mind), permanently sick author with little time to spare= slow updates, etc.

**Again, I don't own D (along with the Frontier and all its freaks), Dante (nor Vergil), and all of them are soo grateful for small mercies =^^= (if they were mine, D would use a costume made of very little leather straps, and no hat…)**

***I send a huge hug to all the gorgeous people who left a review: you are ultra-super-duper awesome! Special thanks to Zophiel, Gif, ThisLittlePiggyStayedHome, Lutessius, BleachFreak, Hello, LOls, dr, Spanishfreak, ChameleonOrangeBlueOrange, Celesta SunStar, HextheDaydreamer and I'MYOURBIGGESTFAN (and I hope I did not forget anyone; there was a bunch of reviews I could not answer because there we anonymous, so here I say: thank youuuu ^_^ ).**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

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"_Pay attention to your enemies, for they are the first to discover your mistakes."_

Anthistenes

* * *

"_Kiss of the Nobility",_ what a pretty title to say that a blood sucking fiend had used you as dinner –thought Dante, and the look in his icy blue eyes and the firm set of his usually smirking lips told D that the Demon Hunter was genuinely furious; it made him look dangerous, among other things that the dhampir fought to ignore... and failed miserably, again.

Dante raised an eyebrow when D turned away from his eyes first, and for a moment he swore to have heard that heart rising a bit and then forcefully tone it down to its impassive daily rhythm.

That was turning out to be a very bizarre day indeed.

- What is going to happen to Vergil, and who's this Valcua guy? –asked Dante, storing the weird reaction for another time. Right now he wanted answers.

- Valcua is, or was, one of the Seven Kings of the Nobility –answered D, accessing his reserves of calm to crush the almost aching need to touch that skin and feel its dark power creeping along his. _Where that came from?_ Better not to answer that, D told to himself immediately: it was a dangerous road for him, one to be left alone or suffer the dire consequences; so he continued, but avoided those blue and gorgeous eyes while doing it-: I destroyed him 3 years ago, and the only way he could be around is if someone else brought him back… as for what is going to happen with your brother, I don't know.

- Poseur… -muttered Dante, getting a tiny vestige of emotion in D's countenance. His twin has called him the same, and the dhampir didn't know if he felt sad, nostalgic or furious.

Maybe it was an unnamed feeling that covered them all…

- I am not supposed to know everything –said the Vampire Hunter, and even the carbuncle was surprised to see the dhampir answering at all.

- A good guess would be useful –retorted Dante, ignorant of the miracles he was producing.

- Vampire victims usually fall captives of a kind of sensual rapture, awaiting their attacker's next "visit" –D answered with obvious practice, his voice as neutrally professional as ever-. If the Noble is not destroyed in time, the victim acquire the characteristics of his attacker, and gradually transform into what people call "the walking dead"; but this depends greatly on the power and will of the victim. In your brother's case, I don't know how is he going to react.

- So, bottom line, I just have to destroy this Florence twit.

The carbuncle laughed his eyes out. In a most ungraceful and unrefined way, D thought the reaction was appropriate. Dante, who didn't share the thought, saw the twisting left hand through half open eyes that promised pain in great quantities; D's stomach did a twist, or at least he hoped it had been his stomach and nothing more to the southern regions of his body…

Internally, he cursed. Could it be that, after six thousand years, his control and seemingly endless calm were failing him?

- Laurence Valcua was called the Ultimate Noble after he tortured and killed millions in all possible and heinous ways –talked the parasite, feeling that the half demon had earned a history lesson-. Five thousand years ago, The Frontier was almost destroyed in the war between him and the Greater Nobility. Bloody rains created rivers and lakes of gore! –exclaimed the hand in a dramatic manner, extending all fingers at once foe effect-. Oh, and he summoned a shooting star –he added in a manner of fact tone that ruined the drama-. Just the power of the Sacred Ancestor brought Valcua down; and then he was exiled to the deep space.

- Ok –Dante conceded, not looking in the least impressed and looking at D this time-. So the twit came back, you defeated him, and now he is back again. Where do I find him and show him that second parts sucks?

- Technically, this would be the third time –corrected the parasite-. And for the memory I saw in your brother, Valcua was the one who brought you two to this time.

- Did you found out why? –Dante was not sure if he should look at the dhampir or at his hand: it bothered him.

- I saw he was in a deplorable state –explained the carbuncle, and his hoarse voice sounded amused-. And he wished for your family's blood; the real question is: how could he know about you, why did he think your blood would restore him? Or is something else he is after?

Dante addressed the carbuncle this time, and asked, a little frustrated:

- Do you have a name? Or should I call you "Thing"? –the producers of the Addam's Family movies would have saved some money with a lot of those carbuncles, he thought, caring little that his audience would not get the joke.

- You can call me "L."

Dante conceded the carbuncle a big grin, and it got bigger hearing the pained sound when D closed his left hand in a tight fist, while not even varying his stoic expression.

- I'll call you "Lefty" –said Dante, still grinning, and then looked at D-. And I don't care if this Florence is the hippest cat in Creation; it is obvious that all my problems are in the same place, so, how do I found him?

- If Valcua desires your blood, he will found us first –answered D, and he looked (although Dante considered that he could be misinterpreting the very subtle facial expressions) **upset**. _Or maybe I'm not_, he thought when he caught the tiny eyes of the parasite looking up and surprised at his host.

D realized a second latter his own dark mood and covered it immediately, but the damage was already done… and why the thought of Valcua getting Dante's blood had upset him so much? The ache in his fangs gave him the dreadful answer.

He desired it for himself, and by the millionth time D cursed his dammed heritage. He got up and went to the door, stopping in front of it just to say, without looking at Dante:

- I don't think Valcua is working alone; when your brother improves, we must leave –and he left. Dante blinked at the closed door, and again stored the weird reaction of the heaven-sent beauty to be analyzed another time (that, and the "we" part, for he certainly hadn't asked for the other Hunter's help –not that he was complaining-).

He looked at his twin in the bed, dreading the feeling that was growing in his chest…

Worry. It has been a long time since he had worried this much about something. Could they turn into vampires? He hoped their demonic blood was stronger than that…

Outside the room, D did not have to walk long to find Lagoon.

- Can you get dried plasma capsules? –asked the dhampir, with all his famous boldness, and the carbuncle fought to not laugh. His host was moodier than usual, and hungry… but to point it out (along with creative forms to get rid of both his bad mood and the hunger would gain him a thousand jar years, so he kept to himself).

_Always to the point_, thought Lagoon, looking down at the avatar of the beauty of the night. To expect chitchat from D was like to expect a Noble to sunbathe, so he hurried to respond:

- Let me look around, it has been a while since anyone asked me for them.

D gave him a slight inclination of his head as thanks, and returned to the room. The scene that welcomed him made him raise an eyebrow.

Dante was shaking his unconscious twin in a rather childish way, and when he saw him near, he asked:

- Don't you have some magic trick in that coat to wake him up?

D got closer to the identical twins, although in that moment he truly wished to be anywhere but it. His left hand touched Vergil's pale brow slightly, and a few seconds passed in silence.

- He has had it rough –said the carbuncle, not sounding particularly preoccupied, and a minute later he asked in a very curious tone-: And, pray tell, what demons eat?

- Hm –Dante murmured, without looking away from the now troubled visage of Vergil-. You could tell it's from life energy… but it must be tuned in the right frequency to nurture them; it depends in what part of the human physique the particular demon feeds: lust, hate, fear, rage, or any other dark rated emotion. That is why their main business is to corrupt, destroy and horrify.

- And you? –the recently named Lefty has no hairs on his tongue it seemed, but D didn't squeezed him to death: he wanted to know too (just sometimes it was good to have a chatty parasite).

- I nourish myself with pizza and coffee, thank you very much –answered Dante, not the least offended, although he added-: The rest I get it from the battlefield, why?

- So there is not a way to nourish your brother while he is like this? –asked D this time, getting his parasite intention (besides being an scandalmonger pain in the tush).

Dante bit his tongue to not propose a threesome: hot wild sex was a great alternative to blood and destruction (as half breeds and sons of a Higher Demon, he and Vergil could feed from a wide range of emotions), but he doubted that the dhampir would agree to take one for the team…

- Nop –the Demon Hunter answered instead-. There are rituals, but I'm no mage, and besides, they require a sacrifice.

- So we are stuck with chicken soup and hugs –mumbled Lefty, and D retired his hand. And in that moment, for everyone's surprise, Vergil's eyelids trembled slightly before open completely and reveal tired and icy blue eyes.

The emaciated twin looked around with a lost look, not focusing in anything in particular.

- Verg? –Dante could not help to call him, and those so tired eyes locked on him for a long moment. Suddenly Dante saw relief in them, which he didn't expected, although… truth was he didn't know what to expect from his twin.

- It is you… - said Vergil, with some difficulty but clearly and with that same relief that was so weird coming from his a long time ago arrogant and cold twin.

- Were you expecting someone else? –Dante looked at him directly, still confused with the whole ordeal… and he refrained himself to not nock down Vergil and save himself this bitter situation.

It was always bitter when Vergil, and seeing him so not-himself threw him out of balance. Vergil seated in the bed with obvious difficulty, and it was then that he saw the dhampir, standing just 2 meters away from Dante.

The 10 minutes younger son of Sparda didn't miss the **WOW**, clear as a spring morning, in the astonished eyes of his twin. And in the name of filial love, he felt an immense desire to hit him. Wasn't Vergil supposed to be a cold fish bastard? Did he not despise everything except power? OK, he was being unjust: Verg was a cold fish bastard with a tiny creamy center.

Did I mention it was tiny?

Dante wasn't sure that said creamy center could accommodate anyone besides him, their mother and Yamato (Vergil's beloved katana) and not become overcrowded and lacking air. Surely it could not make space for an impossibly gorgeous dhampir, no way.

- Vergil, D; D, Vergil –said the Demon Hunter by way of introductions. D limited himself to look at the half demon in the bed and ignored the dazed look in the other's eyes (he had lots of practice at that). Vergil obliged himself to blink, but the vision didn't disappear… it was like a silent winter night preserved for all eternity, drinking light and dark, glowing with power…

He was perfect, and the half demon warrior never dreamt that something more beautiful than the cold blade of Yamato could exist in this world. For a moment he forgot about everything else, and he was glad for it.

Dante conjured the image of his beloved mother to not hit his twin… at least not too hard.

Vergil looked at him through slim angry eyes, and the younger smiled: he looked more in character like this. It also made him happy to see that his brother didn't seem to be sprouting fangs, but that aside, there was still an abyss to close between them.

- I thought you were dead, again –said Dante, and he managed to put in that single sentence much of what he felt and so much more questions that he didn't want to start yelling. Vergil seemed to understand it, or at least feel it, because he looked directly at his brother with equally troubled eyes, just a bit colder.

- This is one hell of an awkward moment –clucked Lefty, and then said in a snide tone-: My landlord, we should give them their privacy.

D didn't dignify that with an answer, but he exited the room quietly. Both brothers followed him with their gazes until the door closed behind him.

- I'm glad you are not –continued Dante, seeing that, miraculously, Vergil seemed to had nothing harsh and ugly to say-. But you understand that you are a motherfucker son of a bitch?

Vergil then did something very un-Vergil: he smiled. It was a dark smile, but it did not lack humor and (the most bizarre part) affection.

- Yes, I understand that –the older said, looking at him with the expression of the standoffish, arrogant know-it-all guy that Dante remembered so well, although there were cracks in the mask. Vergil had fallen to Hell and came back, but not unscathed… and maybe it had been for good.

- You followed me here, I suppose… you should not have –said Vergil, looking tired but serious, elegant despite his condition and (then again) affectionate in his cold and weird way.

- I was not about to let you fall alone again into a hole: I don't like to repeat myself –said Dante, sporting a snide smile and letting his own affection reach his eyes. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable this time, and both brothers felt that there was no need to say more: they had recovered something in that moment; they didn't have to say it or cry like Magdalenes and hug till numbness took over, nor making a list of complaints.

They were together, alive and happy for the opportunity in spite of the circumstances and they eternal differences.

And it was enough.

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_**TBC… **_

_**I hope soon enough. Remember that reviews serve to feed the bunny plot and also procure endorphins to keep the authoress writing.**_


	13. Chapter 13

**Warnings: **Spoilers for the VHD novels, yaoi, a little violence, swearing, grammar mistakes (no Beta to zap my Spanish thinking mind), permanently sick author with little time to spare= slow updates, etc.

**Obviously (and sadly), I don't own D or Dante, and unless I become very rich very soon, I never will.**

**=^_^ = Tons of love to those who reviewed, alerted o favorited this story (yes, I'm making up verbs, but maybe is funnier in Spanish).**

**And I am deeply sorry for the gramm mistakes and odd format on past chapters; I was re-reading them and I almost fainted with the sheer horror of it. I'm trying to post corrected versions, to save my honor.**

**Sorry!**

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**Chapter 13**

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_All things truly wicked start from innocence._

_**Ernest Hemingway**_

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Vergil moved away the hair hanging on his face, but the silver strands weren't leaving him alone: there was always a trick to have long hair and carrying it with grace. The half demon and ex-megalomaniac let it out an angry snort: now that nobody was torturing him, he noticed long hair was awfully annoying.

- You don't have any weird craving for plasma, do you?

Vergil dedicated a nasty look to his twin, but almost without his notice, his hand traced the puncture wounds in his neck, his eyes looking at what Dante thought to be a very bad memory. He also saw ire resurface in those icy orbs, and he was glad for it: if Vergil was still capable of conjuring his old murderous wrath, he was going to be fine… or as _fine_ as any of them could be.

- No, I don't –said Vergil, his tone as dark and cold as Dante remembered it. Vergil's voice really told much about him: it was elegant, almost slow but subtly harsh, completely serious and so self-assured… and on hearing it again, Dante corrected himself on one thing he had been thinking before their reunion. It was definitely different from D's voice; the dhampir's was oh so soft and has this horrific unearthliness that clung to him like a shadow (and unnerved the heck out of many people); not cold but emotionless… and at the same time so expressive…

_And sad… so sad that it is like he is always crying and nobody sees it…_

Vergil frowned. His baby brother looked like he was daydreaming, so he decided to speak again in hopes of waking him up:

- I have unfinished business.

- By the name of Valcua? –asked him Dante, turning away from the memory of beautiful grey eyes and concentrating in the here and now. Vergil nodded gracefully, with danger and a question in his eyes.

- D saw him in your head, oh, by the way: he also cured you –Dante explained, not too serious and ever practical-. He knows him, and also owes me a favor: the bastard is as good as dead.

- He took me by surprise –Vergil didn't look comfortable, but then again, he was admitting a weak moment and that had never been at the top of his favorite things. It took him a moment to continue-: In Maulet Island… it collapsed, and I found myself back in Hell, but free of Mundus control –he pronounced the name like it was something fetid in his mouth.

Vergil offering explanations, now Dante was preoccupied, although it was nice not to have to force them out of him by fist (not that his brother was looking particularly hittable at the moment, and that was a little unnerving).

- It took me years to recover, and when I finally got out, this happens…

- He took his time to explain his evil plan like a good villain? –asked Dante, letting Vergil hear what he thought about the villain in question, and it was nothing like his light choice of words.

It was cozy to have a common hate, very brotherly.

- He did not pass me the memo –Vergil looked positively furious, even if for the Vergil-impaired eye it seemed like he was disinterested-. And he is crazy, that much was very clear.

- Bat-shit crazy, or just frivolously mad?

- The former –said Vergil, he could never use the lingo of his twin. Dante wouldn't change even if he reached the millennium, of that he was sure… and that was fine. Decades ago, it had upset him dearly, but a hell later Vergil had realized that his human side was not a weakness… and he loved his brother, always had. Now he respected him too (not that he was going to say that aloud), and he was willing to walk the path of humanity, or at least something close to it.

He was not sure it was still possible for him, but it couldn't hurt more than Hell to try.

- And who is "D"? –he asked, almost without meaning to; maybe he just wanted to distract himself from his current line of thought-. Is he a vampire? –he added, and not in perfect calm.

Valcua's torture was too fresh in his mind and body, but he would deal with all of that later... much later.

- Half of him.

That surprised the older twin: he had never before met another half-breed among the dammed.

- If his talking left hand is trustworthy –Dante continued with an amused grin-. The guy is the son of Dracula, and since I saved his life, he promised to help me return to 1993. You aboard?

- After destroying Valcua, yes –was the answer, and Vergil still looked surprised and somehow skeptic… but, now that he was more collected and with no danger around, the name rang a bell indeed…

Realization hit him like a lightning.

- Valcua did mention the name –Vergil suddenly said, thoughtful. Two years he had being a captive in that madman's grasp, and although his memories were erratic at best, he remembered clearly that Valcua had often pronounced the legend's name… and it was always covered in a hate that was terrifying-. He was obsessed with him, and kept mentioning something about "his legacy" and "the origin"…

- Nothing about what he heck that had to do with us?

- He bled and cut me till he got bored –said Vergil, his angry eyes lost in another bad memory-. He was very interested in demons, but when I didn't answered his questions, he kept cutting…

Oh, yeah: Valcua was very, very dead –thought Dante, and both kept silent for lack of something else to fill the silence that weren't similar ideas of dead and gory revenge.

- Is there something to eat here? –asked Vergil suddenly, and Dante hit himself mentally: he had almost forgot that his twin was in bad shape, but Verg was to blame for not pestering him about it. Personally, he was a pain in the ass when he wasn't feeling good (not that that happened a lot).

The Demon Hunter was about to go out to get some food, when the door opened. A young lady entered with a tray with food, and D followed her into the room (which explained the deep crimson on the lady's cheeks and her glassy eyes); it did not get better at seeing the two handsome and silver-haired twins, and the poor woman expelled a hasty hello, left the tray by Vergil's side and almost run out of the place.

Vergil found himself trying very hard not to stare at that god-send beauty, but it was harder than he thought possible… he was striking, and every other second his eyes would peek on something like the way that long raven hair sway over his shoulders, liquid in its softness, catching the light and giving off blue and silver reflections…

Dante cleared his throat before the rest of his twin's dignity went down the sewer, and repressed his laughter: it was damn funny when he wasn't in the receiving end of it. Vergil didn't share the thought, and instead dreaded the feeling that ate at him in that moment: embarrassment. He had went through his adolescence without making a fool out of himself, not once, and had always watch with haughty derision at those drooling idiots singing mushy songs and chasing girls like they brains didn't function properly… But in front of that dark and perfect beauty, he felt his self-control and coolness failing miserably.

Dante decided that his brother needed to be rescued (he always could make fun of him later), so he proceeded to give D a briefing of his recent discoveries.

- So he is up to mischief –said the carbuncle, amused but properly troubled… he did not have to tell his host that the only legacy Dracula cared for was "D." himself; they also could not forgot that Laurence Valcua had shown and unhealthy interest for the dhampir more than 5 thousand year ago, and it was only 3 years since their fight.

Dante supposed D's silence meant he was thinking about what he just heard, and something in his sad eyes told him it was nothing cheerful; he even doubted him capable of happy thoughts.

Vergil tried hard to concentrate in his meal: a salad, warm bread and soup. It tasted like glory… how much time had passed since he had eaten solid, human food? His hellish stay had affected him dearly, he was not going to deny it; he just hoped to not cry like a girl when seeing a dawn again.

If it came to that, he would put himself out of his misery.

_Hm_, maybe that was it –he thought-. He was in shock or something similar, oversensitive, coping or whatever… it would pass; he just needed a therapeutic and bloody vendetta to get back on the horse. And acknowledging the problem was the first step to recovery, no?

He had to try.

Vergil looked discreetly at the dhampir, whom in that moment was talking with his brother (although Dante kept the highest count of syllables in that conversation). His toes flipped, his stomach felt funny and the objects around that exquisite creature started to blur and lose color… he barely hold a sigh, and was immediately horrified of himself.

Worst of all, now D was looking at him.

_His eyes are grey indeed…_

- Do you have any recollection of where were you held prisoner? –asked him the painfully gorgeous dhampir.

_A question…__** ANSWER HIM!**_ –yelled his mutilated dignity, and Vergil managed to speak without stutter:

- No. I escaped the same day he… bit me.

The rage helped him to clear his head and looked directly at D, but he averted his deep gaze seconds later. _What the hell is he?_ –Vergil asked in his mind, frustrated and flustered.

- That is why you lost control? –wanted to know Dante. It was hard for him to imagine what took to make his snob, anal retentive, etc., etc. of a brother to lose it like that and shift forms.

Vergil was silent for a moment, looking at nothing in particular. Then he looked up and crossed serious and troubled eyes with D.

- Something in Valcua called me –he said, stoic despite his internal conflict–. I don't know how to explain it, but the moment he took my blood, it made me change… and ironically, it gave me the means to escape. I cannot remember past that. Your presence is very similar –he almost whispered, feeling like those orbs would consume him if he kept staring-. But yours is stronger…

The sky did not fall on his heads, because D did not answer. He grasped what Vergil was trying to tell, maybe even Dante got it, but there was a missing piece of the puzzle if they were to understand the big picture that eluded them.

_Origin and Legacy… _That sounded too close to home for comfort, and he suspected his father had the missing piece, but he would never ask for it: he preferred to be exposed naked to the sun for a month.

- Do you feel his call? –D was not going to elaborate, obviously, so Vergil collected himself again and searched for the loathsome presence that he had come to know so well…

- Yes –he answered at last, glad for just be able to feel Valcua but not being compelled in any weird way. He looked at Dante, and his brother smiled at him the way tigers should smile.

- So it's gonna be _search and destroy_ –said the Demon Hunter, already caressing the hunt to be.

- He is wounded and crazy –Vergil corresponded the good homicidal humor of his twin-. So, yes: lets hurry before we lose the upper ground.

- Are you up to it? –the soft voice of D made Vergil turn and look at him with a glare.

- I will be fine –he said, succinctly. It was a normal question, but the dhampir made him nervous, and he did not like to be called anything close to weak, much less by that chiseled darkness of a man.

- You can start with a hair cut –Dante was grinning, and his twin waited stoically for the teasing that was going to follow it-: I don't want the villagers to start saying how pretty is my twin sister.

Vergil answered him in the most dignified, serious and conspicuous tone he could muster:

- Drop dead.

- After you, _sista_.

D considered (for more than 2 seconds), to raise his eyes and call them a pair of overgrown, and gorgeous, kids; but he restrained the gesture… barely.

He also chastised himself for the "gorgeous" part; maybe his hunger was greater than he gave it credit… Hopefully Lagoon would get him the dried blood plasma capsules soon… that same afternoon, maybe…

_Yeah, right…_

He could not remember a time when his self-control had failed him this badly… could it be a demon trait? And if it was, how was he going to work with them without start twitching like an overgrown one hundred years old toddler?

Life and No-life and half-no-life greatly stank.

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_**TBC… **_

_**The plot bunny is a rare vampire who feasts on reviews. If it doesn't get them, it starts eating stories…**_

_**HAPPY NEW YEAR! ^_^**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Warnings: **Tons of spoilers for the VHD novels (1-17), yaoi, a little violence, swearing, grammar mistakes (no Beta), and permanently sick author with little time to spare= slow updates, etc.

**Obviously (and sadly), I don't own D or Dante and, if they keep lucky, I never will.**

**^_^ = Tons of love to my regular and dearest readers (**which have received a private message for their precioussss reviews —I hope—; if not: I AM SORRYYY T.T, It was not intentional, I swear);** and thanks (and love too, because all you need is love) to those anonymous ones:**

**Aliaceli** (Your non-stopping reviews made me very happy dwarf. I hope this will help with the withdraw, muahaha, but the next one will cost you a larger review).

**The Dark Lord Jeff** (concise but nourishing).

**PaganWanderer **(succinct, but never unappreciated).

**BleachFreak** (your reviews always make me laugh. Vampire D fangirls must stick together! –and write more yaoi for our mutual amusement—).

**ChameleonOrangeBlueOrange** (Vergil is up to more ill-treat, muahaha).

**LOls **(Lefty is a very coveted Bachelor, so you must be fierce to gain his favor).

**VampFreak **(hihihihi. D actually realizes the effect he has on others, but he is a secret perv that lures his prey when they let down their guards thinking him naïve).

**dr** (poor Vergil, but I don't think he is gonna get fangs… or he will?).

**DILOVEYOU** (Camels? Hmm, well, I would prefer coffee ^^: I can barely fit my cat where I live).

**Switch** (your words fill me with joy, thank you!).

Sorry if I missed someone ^_^ (there are many anonymous readers! And it is hard to keep track that way: I prefer to read and answer right away, so my tons of work don't distract me of doing it).

X

**Chapter 14**

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"_Pay attention to your enemies,_

_for they are the first to discover your mistakes."_

_**Antisthenes**_

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Grand Duke Laurence Valcua had not moved in weeks. Seated in that golden throne, he could have been an alabaster statue made by an sinister genius, but the red eyes gave him away: madness lurked in them as a caged beast.

His prey had escaped… but it didn't matter. In the sweet blood of the silver haired man he had tasted the truth of Dracula's words: demons were their origin, but were they going to be their future as well?

Bound to Hell by Divine decree, begging for souls to sustain their horrid forms on earth… How miserable! Vampires were obviously superior, and Valcua could not accept completely their relation…

But with his acceptance or without it, Nobles were still on the verge of extinction.

The key of their revival was in humans, or in something else…? At least that was what the Sacred Ancestor thought. For that solely purpose _**He**_ had performed thousands of abject experiments, leaving behind an equal large spawn of monstrosities, pain and tragedy…

And "D."

_And…_

His red eyes shone like infernal forges with that knowledge…

_You are not my only success anymore…_

_I have given the title to someone else._

_**HOW DARE HE?**_ –Valcua screamed in his mind, but the place shook entirely during a few seconds. Suddenly, the violent tremor stopped, and the once called _Ultimate Noble_ stood in all his powerful height; his face was a mask of wrath that would get the _Furies_ pale… How could Dracula deny him? He had exiled him, discarded into space like a nuisance to be forgotten. And just because the existence of a half-breed… His wrath was justified! His revenge **divine**! Every living thing on that pathetic planet should die to abate his ire, begging a swift dead…

- His legacy will be mine; His future will be mine –he spoke, to no one in particular, his voice more intense than a hurricane, reverberating with the power that had given him his title—. I will tear apart His soul and devour His essence; I will erase His name from history…

A crimson hooded figure entered the throne hall, and didn't seem particularly bothered by the fearful display of fury and raw power of the vampire.

- Kima —said Valcua, stagnant and calm as suddenly as he had been frenetic, and without looking at the newcomer—. Where is _he_?

The crimson figure stopped near the big, smooth door from where he had entered. The place was immense, but there was nothing in it besides the golden throne and its occupant; grey and plain walls were illuminated in an overall way, as if it was the air itself producing light, playing with the gold of the throne and the golden silkiness of Valcua's hair.

- In the city of Krauhausen —was the answer from within the shadows of the hood; the voice was male, but his features barely came out into the light. Kima then looked at the Noble, and lamented to see how the mighty had fallen…

Valcua was all golden, white and savage grace. Powerful, beautiful, fearsome: a truly god of war if there had ever existed one… but there was no reason left in him, not since D had bested him; not since the Sacred Ancestor had told him the source of their species and his destiny 5 thousand years ago.

And for 3 years now, Kima had guided him like a spoiled child, all for his true master. He didn't like to be the proverbial deceiver, but his master was never wrong, and Kima would follow him to the end of the days.

X

X

Shopping should be announced as the Ninth Circle of Hell, at least in D's opinion. And Vergil Sparda, megalomaniac extraordinaire, should be appointed as its keeper.

It was, as well, a beautiful morning… And the dhampir felt like spiting on it, but his refined manners impeded him of such a vulgar act. He resigned himself to follow the pair of half demons all over Krauhausen, bearing the astonished looks and whispers of too many a passersby (they really thought he couldn't hear them? Really?).

It was obnoxious. And why the hell was he tailing along with that madness in the first place, instead of restocking and chasing Valcua like hounds of Hell?

Answer: Dante wanted his twin to feel good; and apparently, part of Vergil feeling good included a new set of clothing. D truly could not grasp the idea, most of all because they had visited a million shops, and dear old Vergil didn't like ANYTHING on them…

Personally, he had entered a shop some thousands years ago, picked some things guided purely by his pragmatic sense, added the armor (chosen by the same principle), and kept to that style for the next thousands of years.

His enemies had never complained, and he liked routine.

The now named Lefty was smiling, no doubt about that, but D ignored him and kept walking under the scalding sun (why where those stupid birds chirping anyway?). They stopped in a pretty big shop with a minuscule employee.

The really tiny man just opened his tiny eyes to full extent before going serious and professional again.

- Can I help you, gentlemen?

- Do you have blue coats? —Dante asked, and his smile was a little crooked on the sides… Maybe D was not the only one loosing his patience. The red clad Son of Sparda hated to go shopping with his twin, and the only thing that had sustained him in that mad quest, was to see the iron will of D collapsing slowly, exposing the human under the fangs and the angst (and the multiple dark layers of poorly styled clothing).

- Yes —responded the employee, a little distracted when catching a glimpse of the dhampir's features under the wide hat and the horrible grey scarf… _Too be beautiful to be human_, he thought, but discarded it immediately, just as the man who sees a unicorn: it was better to forget the encounter—. My name is Albert; follow me, gentleman; which size?

- You really have a blue coat? —Dante just could not believe it. They had been looking for hours for something that didn't offend his snob of a brother: it was too good to be true.

- We procure the best imported fashion from the Capital —boasted the man, smiling with confidence, but then his eyes glued themselves again to the dhampir, and Dante saw in them something he had not believed possible: disgust—. My young master. —he spoke to D, barely suppressing a twitch in his left eye—. If you allow me to say it: you could use a change of garments.

Dante tried very hard not to laugh his guts out, but the smile stretched his lips anyway. The moment was all the more hilarious if you saw Vergil alongside them, wearing as any common dude in the Frontier; which was —in Dante's opinion— something around a cowboy and _The Jetsons_.

The point was that even with that horrible garment in open display, Albert looked like he was going to suffer a stroke if the dhampir kept his clothing in front of him… Maybe he was offended that such beauty was covered in that ugliness.

Or he was a fashion freak.

The alluded one elegantly knitted his brow (Lefty just could not kept a giggle), and said:

- I have dressed like this for over 5 thousand years.

A heavy silence, like four elephants fighting judo right there between them, fell on the place. Dante actually looked astonished, and Vergil didn't fare better (D was 5 thousand years old? He looked younger than them!); but it was Albert who spoke first:

- Oh God… —he took a hand over his chest, deeply affected, and looked at D, or better said, at his clothes, from head to toe. It seemed to cause him physical pain to do it—. It is never too late to amend a mistake… Come with me, young master: something must be done.

The shine in his eyes would put a holy Crusader to shame.

- I am not going to change my attire —said D, without moving and looking as adamant as Albert was determined.

- Oh, c'mon —Dante told him, smiling brightly and maliciously; his hair fell all over his face in thin threads of silver, giving him just glimpses of his mischievous eyes…

D felt his throat contracting, fangs aching… And cursed silently in five languages. It was unfair; and why was he moving? He did not want to buy new clothes; what was wrong with his clothes?

Lefty had an alphabetical and LARGE list about that one in some place inside him (or another dimension), but kept silent.

Even so, D followed them into the evil shop, and looked with distrust every piece of clothing he came to see along the place. After less than 3 minutes, Albert showed them the promised blue coat, and Vergil examined it with a cold smile of approval.

- It is made of the finest leather extracted from the belly of a Greater Dragon —explained Albert, so proud that anyone would think that he personally had killed and skinned the lethal creature—. The ornaments are of pure gold, and the straps of reinforced silk.

The pants, shirt, belt and shoes that followed made Dante murmured an appreciative "Beatch", and was very happy to see his brother disappearing in the dressing rooms.

He almost missed how —with inhuman speed, he swore—, Albert extended a pile of clothes to D. The dhampir almost cringed his precious nose when he caught a glimpse of blue among the fabrics.

- Why is it that you always dress in black? —Dante could not contain himself when seeing such a peculiar gesture in that detached countenance.

- It is easy to wash and disguises well the bloodstains.

D, of course, was not going to say that his mother always dressed in white and blue… And those colors inevitable turned to red, smeared on the rocks where hear beautiful head had crushed…

Dante truly hasn't expected an answer, but seemingly today he was being lucky.

- Well, yeah, it is practical —he tried, looking directly at those divine grey eyes. They were dark and brilliant at the same time, as if made of crystal, the light of the moon and shadows—. But trying something new never hurts.

Albert returned then with an even larger pile (just his head was visible). There was more black this time, with tiny spots of green and grey here and there. He extended them to the dhampir, decisive.

That man was probably the bravest human in the Frontier. A staring duel was set between them, worthy of a Clean Eastwood movie…

D grabbed the clothes and, reluctantly, entered a dressing room.

* * *

_**TBC… **_

_**The plot bunny is always watching you…**_

_**(Anybody played Silent Hill 4?)**_

_**^^ Push the R button; it is good exercise for your fingers.**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Warnings: **Nothing new… hm… petite chapter?

**Do I really have to say again that D and Dante are not mine? (Those ingrates are glad of it! But they will pay, my precious… oh yes, they will…)**

**=^_^ = Tons of love to my regular and dearest readers, and of course I also thanks the anonymous ones (get and account so I can pester you, ehem, I mean: to thank you properly!).**

**Special thanks to my dear friend Zophiel-Lagaze, for the never-ending parade of horrible ancient roman (and other cultures) names, which inspired the end of this chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 15**

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_The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence,_

_rather a condition of it._

**Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

Vergil came out of the dressing room, a smug smile gracing his arrogant and serious face. Dante admitted he looked good (he had to: they were identical twins); and while his now happy and chic snob of a brother asked Albert for some other things, D came out.

Heavenly beautiful, AND well dressed… That should be taboo.

And he did not look comfortable, although maybe just Lefty and Dante were able to tell it. Dante thought it was because now he knew the signals (after all he had made the dhampir VERY uncomfortable once; and he would do it again, if only D would cooperate). Or perhaps it was due to the great amount of time he had devoted to look at him (he just could not get enough, and there wasn't TV in the Frontier).

- You look good —said the Demon Hunter, grinning at the lovely sight, and D almost looked at him with contempt and frowned… almost.

He was wearing black pants that looked like they were painted on him (nothing new there), but that almost lacked purpose being covered as they were to half the thigh by a godsend pair of equally black boots. The vest was black too, long-sleeved and made of at least two different fabrics, giving it a nice contrast; it also had elegant details made in silver at the front and in the tall mao style neck, matching the grey of the soft and very classy scarf. The belt, of course, matched the boots with a lot of black leather and metal as a final touch to accomplish a look of "wild but aristocratic", and _oh so sexy_ even with the armor parts on, all thanks to Albert, who had refused to sacrifice style for security.

Dante felt like telling D to change again: how was he supposed to stay away from him looking so yummy? Albert looked like a horde of vampires could rip him apart right there, and still he would die a happy man. Vergil was reciting a silent mantra (_don't look at his buttocks, do not look at… DON´T do it, you idiot!),_ while at the same time trying to look cool and disinterested.

He didn't manage it, and cursed the excellent cut of the tight pants.

For his part, D felt manipulated and just a little insecure, which was so terrible new that he didn't know what to do exactly (blushing was not an option); that demonic smile seemed to steal away his willpower. And what was a small change of clothing in exchange for being the subject of such a smile? Little, really, but he didn't want to put much thought into that, especially about the why he cared to see that smile or not directed at him… So, D chose to ignore it to the best of his abilities, as usually.

Lefty sighed, resigned. Truly, D could be a child sometimes, but there was no way to explain colors to the blind… Dracula-senior had made a real number on his son, no doubt about that. The carbuncle also chose to remain silent about it: if he dared to talk in that moment, D would change clothes quicker than a striper could take them off… And he had lived too damn enough with a bad dressed host.

The gorgeous (and now fashionably dressed) dhampir put on his hat, covering that lustrous and long cascade of dark dreams that was his hair, and, as always, the wide thing shadowed his face; then he did the same with his old coat. Albert's eye twitched, and Dante suppressed a laugh, but thought it inevitable: D seemed to truly love that hat, and even more the weathered coat and its mysterious contents.

X

More clothes later (Albert insisted in the need of a change of clothes for his peace of mind, on his pocket's treat) the trio was outside with a considerable bunch of bags.

- Hmmm, all that shopping made me hungry —declared Dante, and he directed his steps to the restaurant where he had ate the first time.

Vergil didn't protest (he was hungry too, and Dante had saved him the trouble of announcing it). The dhampir did not like the reminder of his own hunger, but maybe —he thought—, some solid food would help. When they turned around, D knew he would find the exact moment in which the sun disappeared on the horizon: he could always feel it, like an ache leaving his entire being, reminding him he belonged to the darkness…

Vergil Sparda didn't cry, but he took in the scene with some genuine delight. He also noticed something that before his freedom had just being a vague feeling. He searched for the right word, and promptly found it: Desolation. Dante noticed right away the look in his twin's eyes and change in demeanor, and it didn't surprise him; he had had similar thoughts two years ago. That land just did not feel like home; not even like planet Earth. It was a barren place, with jaded and callous people, always on the bad edge of life… and the air itself was full of it.

They walked in silence, but then Vergil spoke, in a serious and flat tone, looking sideways at the dhampir at his brother's right:

- How did it come to this…?

Vergil loved to study the history of humankind; he used analyze with true passion the actions and consequences of the great personages of each era; how they had shaped the course of their world and the destinies of millions. It had been in that same passion that he had started to hate humanity… those weak creatures should not be the heirs of the Earth, or at least that was what he thought some years ago. He had truly had believed that demons were the rightful masters of the planet, but now…

As if they were connected, Dante also looked at D, and the prince of the vampires felt trapped between equally icy stares. But what could he tell them? _My father is an asshole?_ That would be a good summary, but he didn't think it was enough.

Suddenly they were in front of the restaurant, and Dante talked, carefree as usual:

- I have been told that vampires are to blame for everything wrong in this hellhole; if you have something to add-up, we'll ask for dessert.

D almost smiled, but his firm lips stopped in time. Was it so wrong to feel comfortable with that pair of very human like monsters? He should have urged them to re-stock for the travel and the battle ahead, but instead they were calmly entering a restaurant… to eat and have an unpleasant chat: two of his least favorites things to do.

He admitted he wasn't in a hurry to destroy Valcua again… Was he lacking off, after more than five thousand years of devoted death, destruction and infinite solitude? Was he capable of emotional exhaustion? Was the fact that he refused to answer himself an indisputable proof of the former questions?

Maybe Dante was to blame. It was easier to ignore the loneliness that was devouring his hearth when he didn't have anything to compare to…

_The place of our final battle still flows in a place beyond your reach._

_You should continue your journey, D..._

_Your spirit is strong, but too soft. And that is why…_

D cursed his father, redirecting the guilt to him, as always. He wished more than anything to exterminate him, but it looked like an impossible task. Enduring six thousand years of tests and unimaginable hardships and horrors had not gotten him closer to his goal, so…

- This is not the first time I had suggested it —said Lefty, interrupting his thoughts, audible just for the dhampir's sensible ears—. But you should take a break —his voice took a lecherous tone when adding—: Preferably in one of those new pleasure centers of the Capital. Do you have an idea of what we could do in there with your stash of gold?

- Shut up —was the nonchalant retort, as they closed to a table in the farthest zone of the place.

- You really have to update your retorts —grinned Lefty, although his host truly had him preoccupied... He, most than anyone, saw the cracks; he just hoped D never truly broke.

That world did not need another Valcua.

The owner of the place had his third commotion in a row when seeing that unbelievable trio sitting in one table as if it were normal currency. Dante looked as what he was: an unusual Hunter, very attractive, and so sure of himself that few knew how to react to him. Much later, Vergil passed in the town's gossip as a mysterious politic of the Capital, and so everyone treat him with deference.

D, as always, caused more than one case of dry eyes, but it was obvious that people didn't know what to do with him, more than ever. Lagoon had told them that he was his guest, so they could not start to sharpen the stakes and cry: Noble! Lefty almost laughed; after so many years, he had forgotten one of the reasons D never dressed decently (besides his awful taste in fashion): it just made ridiculously obvious his aristocratic appearance.

And, as every human born in the Frontier knew, a profane beauty + stylish attire + too pale skin= vampire.

Vergil almost cursed his new resolution of embracing his humanity, but he restrained himself at the looks and increasingly louder murmurs of those impudent humans. The blue clad twin gave them his second best icy look, and the gossipers felt silent almost instantly. Satisfied, Vergil returned his attention to the nervous waiter.

Dante (ignoring all but the menu), asked for his usual triple order. Vergil chose something healthy and easy for his stomach, and D was looking at the said menu as if he couldn't read it. The last time human food had touched his lips was more than five years ago, and 50 since Doris Lang and her dumb idea of offering solid food and sex to a dhampir…

- In doubt, dessert! —declared Dante, awfully happy. He was in a good mood, and he didn't give much importance to the fact that it was because D looked adorable while staring at the menu (or that he wasn't wearing those hideous clothes anymore).

- Don't be a child, Dante —said Vergil, all seriousness—. In accordance to our next mission, proteins and carbohydrates are the right choice.

The darkness given human form did something he usually never did: he gave up.

- You pick something —said D to the parasite, with all the might of his indifferent countenance.

- Hmmm… —Lefty almost licked his lips in anticipation—. It is a shame I can't order a juicy steak… I hate your stomach!

- And why is that? —wanted to know Dante; Vergil also gave him his attention, but D only offered two succinct words:

- Dead blood.

Lefty —after much whining—, ordered soup, a salad and something that sounded suspiciously like lots of sugar and carbohydrates. His host didn't notice, and Dante decided not to denounce the parasite (he also loved candy).

The waiter left, and Vergil picked up the ugly topic of the current sad state of the Earth. D seemed to be contemplating the answer: it was complicated and long, but at last he spoke, looking from one to another pair of gelid blue eyes:

- Vampires had existed since the times of the Babel Tower, and since those days they have had one King: _**He**_ —the dhampir pronounced the word like a curse—, is the one called the _Sacred Ancestor_.

- Dracula —said Dante, just to enlighten his brother of what he had come to know from the chatty carbuncle. He never expected to see a glimpse of fury passing D's grey eyes, turning them even colder…

_He is the son of Dracula, but never ever said that aloud again_

_if you don't want all Hell to break loose…_

Dante cursed himself and waited for, well, all Hell to break loose…

And nothing happened.

D decided to control his temperament, just this once, and continued talking as if he had not just heard THAT accursed, hateful and despicable name:

- Having been born as a human, _**He**_ —again the emphasis, almost a warning—, ordered vampires to hide among mankind until the chosen day. He knew human race would ultimately come to destroy itself, and it did: in the year of 1999.

Vergil took this news as a bad hit to his recent convictions, and almost without wanting to, he turned to see his twin: Dante didn't looked shaken, and that cheered him up a little. D continued in the same soft and unemotional tone:

- Someone pushed the button and launched the full-scale nuclear war that the human race had been warned about for so long. Thousands of ICBMs and MIRVs flew in disarray, reducing one major city after another to a white-hot inferno —D made a pause. He had read it from the archives of his father, in Castle Dracul; but it was weird telling the story to a pair of guys who came from a time before said story—. The survivors barely made it. Their numbers totally insignificant, they shunned the surface world and its toxic atmosphere and were left with no choice but to live in underground shelters for the next few years. After a thousand years, civilization itself plunged back to the level of the Middle Ages; it was then that vampires, who had kept themselves hidden from the eyes of man and lived on in the shadows, arose. They remembered a civilization the human race could not, and they knew exactly how to rebuild it. They had a hidden superpower source that they'd secretly developed in fallout shelters of their own design, along with the absolute minimum machinery required to reconstruct civilization after the absolute worst came to pass —D felt like he had never before talked so much, and it was really weird, but now he had to finish it—: And so, civilization was rebuilt and the tables were turned for vampires and humans. They gave the world a sprawling civilization driven by super-science and sorcery, dubbed themselves the "Nobility", and subjugated humanity. The automated city with its electronic brain and ghostly will, interstellar spaceships, weather controllers, methods of creating endless quantities of materials through matter-conversion—all this came into being through the thoughts and deeds of them and them alone.

It was too much to digest, but Dante wanted to know just one more thing at the moment:

- And how is it that they are not still running things?

- The golden age of vampire dominance lasted for just five short millennia —answered D—. It took them another 5 thousand years to decline as a species, and now they serve no other purpose than to terrorize humans and head to extinction.

Vergil shook away his partial numbness in light of these almost casual words. He once had thought demons could —and should— inherit Earth… But here, now, someone was telling him it has not worked for the vampires (which, for him at least, were very much like demons).

- Why? —Vergil needed to know; it felt like a matter of life and dead, and he totally forgot to be haughty and cool when asking this.

- Nobody knows —was the very disappointing answer. At seeing the identical pair of frustrated faces, D felt he owned a little more, and added against his nature—: Vampires belong to Death… they don't posses the same _spark_ that humans, and so…

_And so…_

His own words tasted bitter in his mouth. He had know it for a long time, but to say it aloud was not pleasant…

- And where is Dracula?

Lefty barely restrained a "shhhhhhhh!", and then waited for the explosion… he hadn't heard that name in millenniums; those twins didn't know what they were doing…

- _**He**_ is not of your concern —the dhampir spoke very lowly, and Vergil immediately thought of T. S Elliot: _"This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper." _Even so, he wanted his answer, so he insisted—:

- Not of my concern? Dracula orchestrated the apocalypse of MY home; and Valcua kept repeating that name, but now I don't know if he was talking about your father, or if he was referring to you; because, obviously, "D." is not a name.

Lefty could have run in circles, hysterical in his hideout, but the place lacked the proper elements; he was just glad he had went in there in time to avoid the worst squeezed of his career.

He was not sure the older twin could survive it…

This time it was more than a glimpse of emotion in that moon face. D's expression was ablaze with white-hot fury, and Vergil was stricken with a sincere and immediate fear; he, who had despised and laughed at Mundus, Lord of Hell… but that ghastly aura was directed solely at him, and it was like a sure promise of something worst than dead.

The only reason the place was not wracked in havoc by then, was because the _dhampir_ still made and effort to control his temper. Vergil, who had never before surrendered to fear and, of course, wasn't going to start now, pretended to say more…

And suddenly, faster than lighting, there was a broccoli in his mouth.

D blinked, his anger nearly forgotten at the comic and absurd sight. Vergil coughed out the offensive vegetable, and turned irate (and blushing equally furiously) to look at his twin. Dante shrugged and said, with no remorse whatsoever:

- Really, man: you don't know when to shut your mouth. Wouldn't you be upset if your name were Dracula Jr.?

Lefty started to cough violently.

D felt as if Hell had frozen, melted and then poured over him… He looked befuddled at Dante, not knowing if he wanted to laugh or to dig out his heart with a conveniently close spoon…

- What? —the youngest twin asked, trying not to laugh—. There are worst names, like: Pánfilo, Filemón, Hajenobarbus, Ulpino, Anacleto, Longo, Vergil… As Murphy says: it can always get worse.

* * *

_**TBC…**_

_**R! E! V! I! E! W!**_

_**(And now imagine the Sparda twins on cheerleader uniforms!)**_

_**** The laaaarge explanation of "how the boring Frontier came to be" was almost textually copied from Book 1 of VHD (starting with "Someone pushed the button..."). I thought it would be nice to put it there, for those who are not familiar with the novels (and for those who are not familiar with the series at all ^^).**_


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:**

Hello! Yes, I´m aliveee! (insert echo). Also I am very sorry for the awful delay in the updates, but life calls and there´s little to do about that… _sighs*_. Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers and their kind words (deep bow); it always put a big smile on my face when I see a review alert in my mail.

**To Rea:** Thanksss! You are very kind, hehe, I am still blushing; and yes, the gramm mistakes make a dance of their own in this, but since English is not my first language (and I don´t have a beta nor sufficient spare time), they will continue with their reign of terror, and you and all my readers are saints for tolerate them :3 (thanks again!).

* * *

**Chapter 16**

* * *

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._

**Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**Last chapter:**

_D felt as if Hell had frozen, melted and then poured over him… He looked befuddled at Dante, not knowing if he wanted to laugh or to dig out his heart with a conveniently close spoon…_

_- What? —the youngest twin asked, trying not to laugh—. There are worst names, like: Pánfilo, Filemón, Hajenobarbus, Ulpino, Anacleto, Longo, Vergil… As Murphy says: it can always get worse._

D decided to react as a reasonable and mature monster. It was because of this that his boot's heel smashed Vergil's left foot's little finger under the table, and Dante received a glare that, the Demon Hunter admitted, was something to fear and avoid at all cost in the future if he wanted to remain whole and healthy.

He didn´t cut them in half, nor mutilate them or ruined their nights for the remain of their immortal lives… D really thought he was being **VERY** mature.

Lefty wished again that he could laugh to his heart content, but he loved life too much. Nobles and humans asking themselves about the mystery behind the _"D.",_ and this half-breed had yelled it in the middle of a restaurant as if it was the 4 o clock news! It was simply hilarious, never mind that his host didn´t think the same.

- He is not an enemy you can defeat —said the dhampir, his temper now in perfect check, and looking a little crazy to the Sparda twins after his, ehem, tantrum.

- You are underestimating us, and I consider that a great insult —spoke Vergil, darkly, although the clear pain that he was trying not to show kind of ruined it. He had been tortured in many ways, but nothing like that! It had to be some secret nerve knowledge exclusive of evil and gorgeous dhampirs…

- The Sacred Ancestor doesn´t even exist in a single plane of existence anymore —continued D, without breaking a sweat—. I have tried to destroy him many times in this past five thousand years, so what makes you think you could do it? Moreover: _**He**_ is not your problem. We´ll find and destroy Valcua, and then I will assist you to return to your own time. That´s all.

That tone didn´t left space for arguments, and it reminded the twins that they were dealing with a powerful (and moody) being, thousands of years older than them. Vergil would have liked to argue more, but he knew when to do tactical retreats. Maybe later he would gather more details about the little apocalypse thing, and the vampire freaks… That, and the fact that he really doubted that he and Dante existed in the year 12,130 A. D. Furthermore, there seemed to be no demons at all. Even with his sword, Yamato, sealing the door to Hell, it was hard to conceive the cease of all demonic activity in earth. What had happened..?

D could almost read the thoughts in the stern face of Vergil and in Dante´s deep silence. Similar thoughts run through his mind, fast as light, while he elegantly chewed a vegetable that would never satiate the hunger that corroded him. The dhampir would have loved to have even a shred of self-deception, but the right answer used to be the simplest one: Dante and his brother were dead in that present. So, it came to reason that, in returning them to the year 1993, he was giving them a ticket to the scaffold… Or something far worse. And maybe it was true that each road not taken created an alternate future; or that in traveling to the past, they were destroying their present time or creating a bunch of paradoxes that would, eventually, bite him in the ass…

Alas, the marvels of time travel! D grimaced at it (an at the piece of cauliflower). He had done it before to scape a sealed dimension, but at the time he really haven´t looked back to contemplate it… He had only eyes to the future, to the **end**…

Would Dracula even aloud it?

There was only one way to know it, but Valcua had to be destroyed first… Him, and his puppeteer.

Suddenly, D perceived he had taken something sweet to his mouth. Sweet and DELICIOUS. Just then the dhampir noticed the gigantic bowl of ice-cream in front of him, and looked at it in a way that made Dante forget all about the End of Days and evil vampires. The Demon Hunter wanted so badly to hug him that it hurt… How could someone so lethal look so cute? It was beyond his demonic comprehension, but D managed it.

— Never got ice-cream? —Dante could not help himself.

— No —was the succinct answer, but and answer nevertheless, and the dhampir continued eating his vanilla ice-cream with lots of cream, nuts and liquid chocolate in silence. Dante declared to himself that he had seen less stimulating pornos, and Vergil managed to look at his food the entire time (even when he run out of food).

Minutes later, when the trio was about to leave, a young man caught up to them and gave D a note. The dhampir read it in a single glance, and the piece of paper disappeared in his left hand…

_It will take me a month to get what you want_

_** F. Lagoon**_

— Bad news? —asked him Dante, noticing the sudden tension in the dhampir. Or was he imagining it?

— It is nothing —D continued promptly to the exit—. Let´s re-stock and go.

— Sir, yes Sir! —Dante saluted, but only obtained a glare from Vergil and nothing from the darkness made flesh.

An hour later they were riding to the northeast, guided by the eldest Sparda twin. Were they being led to a trap? Maybe, but they didn´t care: it was their enemies who had to worry.

* * *

_**TBC…**_

_**R! E! V! I! E! W!**_

_**(D got mad at seeing Dante in a cheerleader uniform, so there´s just lefty with a pom-pom).**_

_**I know it was short, but the next part is very emotional and I want to get it right. Also I´m not sure if I should post it in here (with all the lately witch hunting around the FFnet). I don´t want to be vanished into exile :P and there´s really no way to censor it (and I haaaate censorship). So… what do you think?**_


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Hello everyone! This chapter is rated M for good, hooray! I really spent some brain matter (and much, much coffee and two sundaes) in trying to stay in character and make this all believable… I hope it was not for naught and that you won't hate me after reading it :P (or organize an angry mob… brr).**

**Thanks to you all wonderful readers! (Obviously there are cyber cookies and ice cream for the ones who left reviews and brightened up my day :).**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

_It feels so warm when you are near_

_You are all I want to feel_

_Tell me now, is this for real?_

_It's hard to breath_

_We're all lost in travelled time, cannot find my peace of mind_

_When the sun will rise again, we'll fly away_

_** Linger, Epica**_

* * *

One month later:

_How did it come to this?_

D had never wasted time contemplating the many tragedies that darkened his soul. After all, to cry was futile, so useless... After so many horrors, he could not give them a second thought or they would tear him apart and left just madness behind.

But then... Why the image of Dante lying there, with a dagger piercing his heart, kept him paralyzed? It was as if the world had to end in that moment, but it insisted on keep going, and it was ridiculous.

_He is dying..._ –thought D, remembering the instant in the middle of that terrible battle when he had felt Dante getting closer to his left flank, with such a speed that he couldn't have stopped him. For a moment, seeing him falling, D had not understood. Dante surely wasn't covering his back, who did that? But then, the Demon Hunter fell...

D grabbed the golden hilt of the dammed weapon and took it out, immediately pressing down on the wound and the sea of red that followed. The dagger had to be poisoned with something lethal, or Valcua wouldn't have wasted the movement in such a hard battle. The blood just did not stop, and the greedy earth kept taking it like and offer, insatiable, as if it had not just a minute ago taken the life of a Noble.

D felt empty. It didn't matter that he had tore Valcua apart, his own half brother, just a minute ago. He had been consumed by a white hot fury that he haven't thought himself capable of feeling, not anymore... Not since his mother's death; not since that dark place where he had understood that he would always be alone.

Giving Valcua a thousand gory deaths would not be near enough to satisfy him.

Dante was dying, it was a certainty, but D felt incapable of turn his back on him and continue as always... It seemed impossible, even when his rational mind insisted in telling him that he could not do otherwise, even showing him the cause and consequence of the actions that had leaded them to that horrid moment. The trap had been good, excessively good. Valcua was obviously mad, to have used **that** against three men. If left alone, the device would turn to nothing that part of the Frontier.

In the beginning of the battle, Vergil had found and opening and went to destroy the anti matter generator while they fend off the little army of artificial soldiers, clearly part of the Sacred Ancestor's technology, all in the middle of those lethal storms that even now ravaged the land.

It mattered not, just the results.

A pained moan escaped Dante and, although it seemed impossible, more blood followed it, suffocating him. Without thinking, D raised the other Hunter's head and let it rest on his tight. He searched for those icy and brilliant eyes, and founded them clouded by pain; his silver hair was humid and stuck to his deadly pale skin. The dhampir touched Dante's cheek, just barely... He was so cold, and that seemed to go right to his own heart, leaving him numb and lost.

What could he do? He knew he was just a weapon; death and destruction were his shadow...

_Origin and legacy..._

Valcua's obsession, Demons and vampires... A blood stained history... Could it be...?

He didn't have any other options, and never succumbed to doubt once he had decided on a course of action. D raised his hand over the mouth of Dante and then rolled back his coat and shirt sleeves, exposing his left forearm. He brought his right index finger to bear just above the wrist, right at the artery. By merely running the finger across the white flesh, it left a thick vermillion line, and bright blood gushed from the wound, pouring down on the Demon Hunter's mouth.

D waited what seemed a cruel eternity. Mere seconds later Dante's throat moved slowly. Seeing this, D's mind froze in a tiny spark of something so weird to him that he didn't recognize it: hope.

The dhampir's countenance grew paler and paler, but he didn't close the wound.

Movement, so quick that, for a second, D didn't know what had happened, just that suddenly he was tasting the well known flavor of his own blood, mixed with what had to be ambrosia… The rush of power that followed it made him shudder to the last centimeter of his body.

The sensation of the half demon's lips over his own brought him back. The kiss was savage, and demanded for the absolute dominion and submission of his mouth, but D cared not: it meant Dante was alive and would continue like that… The intense relief scared him, but he didn´t have time to think about it, because a moment later he was on his back.

Strong hands tore away his clothing, and neither the fabric nor the armor were worthy adversaries for that fervor. It seemed to him that his right hand had moved without his consent to Dante's nape; his fingers submerged in those thin and soft silver strands, as he had never dared to touch anyone, and he loved the simple caress.

He searched for Dante's face.

Equally vermillion eyes looked back at him, shining with a dark power, but, in a sense, it was perfect. Much passed between then in that silence, but no words, and this time it was D who crossed the distance that separated their mouths. He felt as if the power flow that formed between them would set him aflame from the inside out, destroying everything he was in its implacable path. It was an inhuman desire but, since they were monsters, did it matter?

The dhampir's hands explored and tore apart with equal passion, and he didn´t contain a choked gasp when, at last, he felt the firm softness of that skin against his, heard the roar of that powerful heart calling him and promising the end of any pain he might have felt in the past. Against the smooth and chiseled expand of his chest, D felt and heard the tickle of a deep satisfied purr; Dante's hands leaved burning skin anyway they adventured, and in that moment D knew the truth: It would be loneliness his road to madness, not blood. The marvelous heat of that body told him so, such as the memory of the cold away from it. He was starved of touch, of the simplest of affections, drifting away into just the shadow of Vengeance… Into nothingness and insanity…

_But…_

He had let go of so many people, digging them graves in his heart long before they were truly dead. Even so, he felt incapable of letting go of Dante: the idea was logical but absurd… It was a weakness if he wanted to destroy his father, he knew it, but…

Dante noticed the instant of doubt, even when the dhampir was clinging to him with an expression that broke his heart more effectively than a thousand blades. He decided not to waste words, and his inner demon purred its approval. He hooked his arm under the dark prince's waist and parted one creamy thigh with his free hand, holding his breath as one that is about to reveal a great treasure.

D barely noticed the instant in which Dante held him up with delicious ease and then something hot and wet pressed against the only virgin place in his so many times maimed flesh. What followed was not entirely pain, and D arched his back at the same time his mouth let go of an equally ambiguous lament. The sound the other Hunter let out caused the dhampir to shiver violently: it had been possessive, mighty.

For his part, Dante could have come undone just by seeing that divine face loosing his hard maintained composure like that, and knowing himself responsible. D looked vulnerable in his obvious innocence and surprise, but predatory at the same time. The Demon Hunter licked their mixed blood still smeared over his lips, and trembled, barely containing his metamorphosis. He closed his eyes for a moment, and at opening them, he found that D, with those seductively red eyes, was looking at him directly. The dhampir was breathing elaborately, his half open mouth let him see clearly the sharp and fine fangs, so close to his throat, but in that moment he couldn't care less; not when the only thing he could think of was about his manhood being surrounded by that tight heat of silk, and the power filling him in an almost painful way, intensifying every minuscule sensation and turning them into maelstroms.

_**Mine…**_ Any pleasure he had thought to felt before became nothing against that moment. Holding such a creature like that, looking himself in his lust filled eyes, Dante felt complete and content.

-You are so beautiful…

D had listened that all of his long life, but this time he didn't feel the familiar displeasure that usually accompanied those words. Dante saw him, really saw him, and it was wonderful and terrible at the same time…

The Demon Hunter raised him with a single arm, until he was almost out. D could not help to cry out, and his hands moved to Dante's shoulders for support. The feeling of that ardent hardness filling him was weird, but not unwelcome; his keen senses were captive of an avalanche of new sensations, and he could barely do anything more than take it. His hands traveled along the unbending arms that held him, and his sight got distracted in the exquisite tension of the muscles under that skin; the way in which their colors contrasted, its smell, the few sweat drops that slid along it and how all of this became a fever spreading throughout his entire being: It was almost too much.

D knew all that there was to know about pain, but this pleasure…

Again, he felt the earth under his back, and Dante's torso followed him down, as if he could not bear to be separated from him. His legs spread without a thought, and watching D offering himself like this, with the long raven hair spread around, framing his snow-white glory, Dante was sure that he would never see something so perfect… He wanted, **needed**, to devour him, to posses him, adore him.

Emitting a grunt, the Demon Hunter charged forward with force, getting himself all the way in to the hilt in one swift movement between those alabaster legs.

The sound that escaped from D's mouth was of total abandonment. The wave of pleasure had been so sudden and unexpected that it made him dizzy, and for a moment he didn't see nor hear anything; his hands tried to hold on to something, but they found just the hard ground. His elegant fingers went through it as if it had been sand.

_So much heat…_ During an instant of lucidity, D marveled at the fact of not being in flames. The pressure grew along that ardor, making him desperate, tearing him apart, and his legs tightened with inhuman might around Dante's waist, trying to get closer, deeper. He let out a whimper, something between begging and demanding.

Dante gave up: higher brain function was a stupid dream in that moment, and something akin to a growl echoed in his throat. He didn't contemplate for a second to contain his immense strength; with D's knees over his shoulders, he rested both palms on each side of the dhampir, and slammed once, and then again and again until he found a satisfying rhythm. In that position he could saw himself sliding in and out of the dhampir, along with the irrefutable proof of just how exited he was. The Demon Hunter sought that feral mouth and laid claim to it as if he wanted to devour him, cutting himself without a flinch. D received him with equal hunger and, tasting the vital liquid smeared in that implacable tongue, his body seemed to move by himself; he reached out for Dante, pressing his dripping manhood between their bodies, and a growl escaped his lips.

- Fas…ter…

D didn't recognized his own voice, hoarse and panting, but the pumping that followed fulfilled his wish and put to test the resistance of his preternatural flesh. That long and broad tower of hot flesh advanced fiercely inside him, hitting perfectly that pleasure spot he had not knew he had, and retreating as quickly just to repeat its merciless attack.

It was delicious. To be dominated like that made him felt free, whether it made sense or not… Something in Dante called to him, and in that moment D just needed more of the half demon, in any possible way.

Dante bit the reddened lower lip of the dhampir, and grabbed his waist with both hands. He leaded the swinging of their joined bodies as the best orchestra director would, and for every assault he got the more sublime and sinful sounds from that creature, creating his own aria. Long minutes later, the frenzy reached its highest point, and their movements became erratic. After an instant of tension, Dante reached a blinding climax, filling with his essence the insides of that living sculpture.

He collapsed over D, breathing heavily, so relaxed that for a moment he thought he had no bones. He was so perfectly content, at least until he recovered enough brain function to realize that the dhampir had not followed him in his euphoria.

D felt that this time he really would go mad. That ecstasy was a crescendo that didn't end, and it was inexorably taking him to the abyss from which he had fled all his life… It was not pain; it was not pleasure: it was something beyond despair.

He needed it… and it was right there, so close…

- Do it –whispered Dante, his slow and indolent voice caressed his earlobe, inflaming even more that accursed desire. D also heard in that voice a perfect calm and… _affection_? It tore a lament from him: fear had him frozen, but he had also reached the point of no return.

His mouth touched Dante's neck; his pulse beat against his lips, and D felt himself drowning in his smell, his strength… He saw the Abyss, and fell in it. His fangs penetrated flesh and the blood fill his mouth, hot and perfect, flowing directly to his hearth through his fangs.

The world turned red.

Glory. Peace. Liberation. To finally let go… It was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. "Climax" was such a poor word for that onslaught on his being, as if he have been recreated in its crimson explosion. Something broke, something mended itself; for an eternal moment, nothing was capable of disturbing him, not the shadows of his past nor the inevitability of his future.

He was simply there, and for the first time in more than 6 thousand years, he was not alone… D let go of that blood, and the vermillion abandoned his eyes too. Without thinking about it, he cuddled in the curve of Dante's strong neck and embraced him with the strength of 50 men.

The Demon Hunter smiled ratter foolishly at the gesture, and returned it with equal vigor. There, in that destroyed corner of a decadent world, with that forbidden beauty resting against him, he felt perfectly happy for the first time in his hard life. It was almost a pity to close his eyes, but he did, hoping not to discover when he awoke that all had been a dream.

* * *

_**TBC…**_

**Yaaay! At last, lemon! I did it! **T^T **. It was hard to translate this, so please review and give me energy to recharge :D**


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